Shadows of the Seascape

Andrea hadn’t planned to come inside. She liked the sun on her skin, the hum of the promenade, the bite of salt in the breeze. But after two hours alone on the lounger, sipping overpriced rosé and watching couples stroll past hand in hand, she got bored. She missed the sound of her husband’s voice, the weight of his hand on her thigh, the way he looked at her when he thought no one else was watching. And she knew he’d be there, dark hair mussed by the Mediterranean heat, surrounded by men in lanyards and tailored suits.

The Palais des Congrès was airless by comparison. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. She wandered past rows of exhibits, nautical charts, steel fittings, and glossy renderings of trimaran hulls, scanning the faces and displays until she found him. Gabriel. Standing beside a scale model of a catamaran, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the top two buttons of his shirt undone.

He looked up, spotted her, and paused mid-sentence. His mouth curved, first in surprise, then with something darker.

She wore a silk wrap dress, the colour of melted ice cream. Her hair was up. Her sunglasses dangled from her fingers. She didn’t belong here, and that was the point.

Their eyes met.

In that moment, nothing else existed. The men, the models, the talk of load lines and hull resistance all faded. There was only Andrea, and the jolt of want that hit him like surf against steel. He wanted her right there, right then. This, he realised, was going to be the best part of his day.

Without a word, he stepped away from the group and walked to her. His hand brushed her lower back, then settled lower.

“There’s a storeroom behind the stand,” he murmured in her ear, the scent of sea and aftershave clinging to him.

Andrea said nothing. Just followed with a smile.

The door clicked behind them. Stale warmth enveloped them, cardboard boxes stacked in uneven towers along the walls. Light filtered in from a frosted glass panel above. It was quiet, close.

He turned and pressed her against the wall. His mouth found hers with a hunger that surprised them both.

She gasped, fingers knotting into his shirt. His hands skimmed her hips, then slid down, beneath her dress, lifting it high enough to expose her thighs.

“No underwear?” he whispered against her neck.

“No bra either.” Her voice was breathless, teasing. “Felt too hot to bother.”

He groaned, dragging the dress up past her hips. She shifted one leg around his waist, opening for him, the scent of her arousal instantly heavy in the air.

“I knew it,” he muttered, fingers finding the slick heat of her labia. “You’re fucking soaked.”

“I thought of you,” she said, “standing here talking about the length of your deck, while I lay there imagining the width of your trim. And before long, I was wet enough to slip right off the lounger.”

He growled, low and primal. His hand slid between her thighs, and with practised urgency, two fingers plunged into her slick heat. Andrea cried out, her breath catching as her body jerked against the wall. She gripped his shoulders hard, fingernails biting into the fabric of his shirt as he began to move inside her, curling deep with a pressure that made her knees falter. Each stroke brushed that perfect spot inside her, and her hips started to roll in answer, greedy for more. Her inner walls clenched instinctively, the wet sound of his fingers working her open filling the narrow room. Her mouth fell open, her lashes fluttering as a moan escaped her throat, raw and involuntary. It felt filthy, frantic, and absolutely necessary.

“You came here to get fucked,” he said. “You want me to take you right here, like the filthy little whore you are? You couldn’t wait until tonight?”

“Yes.” She arched her back, grinding down onto his hand. “God, yes.”

He stepped back just long enough to undo his belt, yank his trousers low. His cock sprang free, thick, hard, veined, the head slick with pre-come. She reached for him, curling her fingers around the shaft. He hissed through his teeth as she began to stroke him slowly, firmly, and deliberately. Her grip was confident, her touch obscene in its elegance. She dragged her thumb over the slick head, then down the thick ridge of his length, watching his jaw clench. He twitched in her hand, already desperate to be inside her, but she took her time, teasing, coaxing, feeling the weight and heat of him pulse in her palm. Just as she dipped lower to stroke the base and flick her wrist with a final flourish, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head.

“Not today,” he said. “Today, you’re mine.”

He lifted her, effortlessly, and pressed her back against the wall, her legs locking tight around his waist. One hand braced her lower back, the other guided the thick head of his cock to her slick entrance. He nudged against her, teasing the swollen folds, coating himself in her arousal before pressing in. Andrea gasped, her breath hitching as he began to stretch her, inch by inch, his cock thick and unrelenting. It was slow, deliberate, a claiming. Her walls opened around him, resisting slightly, then yielding with a hot, aching fullness. Her nails dug into his shoulders as he sank deeper, the stretch exquisite, ruthless, until he was buried to the hilt and she could feel his balls pressed against her bum. She trembled against him, breathless, overcome by the sheer intensity of being filled so completely.

Her head fell back with a low, wanton moan.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he muttered into her neck.

His hips began to move, deep, grinding strokes that rocked the boxes behind them. Andrea clung to his shoulders, her breath ragged, legs wrapped tight around his waist. Each thrust hit the spot with obscene precision, forcing out little gasps she tried, and failed, to muffle. Her dress had slipped loose at the top, the neckline gaping from the friction of their movements. The silk clung to damp skin, evidence of their encounter hidden only by fabric and the flush still blooming across her chest. They were completely lost in the moment, surrendering to the pleasure and desire that consumed them. The storeroom, with its musty smell and dim light, had transformed into a private sanctuary, a place where they could indulge in their passions without judgment. The sounds of their bodies moving against each other filled the air, a primal symphony of lust and release. As he continued his assault, Andrea moaned louder, her body arching in response, begging for more. She closed her eyes, lost in the sensation, letting go of all inhibitions and embracing the pure, unadulterated pleasure of the moment. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them in their sweaty, desperate embrace.

“You love this,” he said. “Being used. Pinned. Fucked like it doesn’t matter who hears.”

“Yes, yes, Gabriel.”

He drove into her, faster now. The wet slap of bodies filled the room. Her thighs trembled as she lowered them, the heat of his release beginning to slip down between her legs. Her nipples stiffened in the cool air, grazing against the fabric as it bunched around her ribs. They bounced with every thrust, ripe and flushed, the slight sting of exposure only fuelling her arousal. She was so full she could barely think, every nerve lit, every gasp a plea for more.

“You’re going to come for me,” he growled, fucking her harder. “I want you dripping with me when you walk out of here.”

“Yes.”

His hands softened, became gentle. One trailed up to cup her cheek. She kissed him, slow this time.

“You’re insatiable,” he murmured.

Andrea laughed against his lips. “You’re the one who dragged me into a storeroom.”

“Because you showed up with no knickers on.”

“I thought it might help with networking.”

He smiled. “Good. Let them wonder.”

As they opened the door and stepped out into the bright din of the trade floor, Andrea’s legs still shook. She sauntered, chin high, the taste of him still on her lips and the ache of him deep inside. With every step, she felt the warmth of him slipping out, trickling down the inside of her thigh. It made her pulse flutter. She kept her face composed, elegant, aloof. However, inside, she was a mess of arousal and satisfaction, glowing with the knowledge of precisely what they’d done and where.

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