Rain on the asphalt

The rain on the asphalt pounded the windshield as Marco drove at full speed, his hands tight on the wheel, his cock already hard just thinking about her. The road was a shiny black ribbon, illuminated by the headlights that cut through the darkness like blades, and the sound of the water hitting the car was a perfect backdrop for the memories running through his head. The phone on the seat was silent, but Clara’s voice—hot, lustful—echoed in his ears: “I can’t get that night out of my head…” Those words had gotten to him, reawakening the desire he’d been trying to stifle for weeks.

That night had been a mess, an explosion of wild sex that they should never have allowed themselves. They had met in a crappy bar, one of those with broken neon lights and the smell of whiskey in the air. She was a sight to behold: a tight dress that showed off her ass and tits, and that perfume—jasmine mixed with something sinful—that had made him want to fuck her right there, on the bar. After a few drinks, they had ended up at her house, his hands already under her clothes before he had even closed the door. He had slammed her against the wall, ripped off her panties and taken her there, with the rain hitting the windows and her moans filling his head. He still remembered the taste of her wet pussy on his tongue, the way she had grabbed his hair while he licked her until she screamed.

The car skidded on the asphalt as he turned onto her street, his heart pumping in his chest and his cock throbbing in his jeans. He didn't know why the fuck he was coming back to her, but he couldn't stop. The phone call had been a fuse, and now he just wanted to die inside her. He parked under her building, stepped out into the freezing rain that soaked his jacket and hair, and stopped for a moment to look at her window. *Is she?* Clara's question burned inside him, and the answer was already in his pants.

He rang the bell, and her voice hit him right in the groin: “Come up.” The door opened, and Marco took the stairs two at a time, his cock tugging at his zipper. When she opened the door, his jaw nearly dropped: there she was, barefoot, in a silk robe that clung to her tits and ass like a second skin, her hard nipples showing through the fabric. Her wet hair fell into her face, and her eyes looked up at him as if she wanted to suck him right there on the threshold.

“Clara,” he began, but she put a finger to his lips and pushed him inside. She closed the door and grabbed his jacket, ripping it off him as she stuck her tongue in his mouth. The kiss was dirty, hungry, and Marco quickly reached under her robe, finding her naked and already wet. He grabbed her ass hard, making her moan, and slammed her against the wall. She pulled his shirt off, the buttons popping to the floor, and clawed at his chest as he opened her robe and sucked on her nipple, biting hard enough to make her gasp.

“Marco,” she gasped, sliding a hand into his jeans to squeeze his cock, “fuck me now.” He didn’t have to be told twice. He lifted her leg, unzipped his pants, and let his rock-hard cock slide free. He entered her with one sharp thrust, making her scream as he filled her up to the hilt, the tight walls of her pussy enveloping him like a glove. The rain outside seemed to punctuate their movements—him slamming her against the wall, her biting his neck and screaming at him not to stop.

He slid two fingers into her mouth, making her suck him off as he fucked her harder, the sound of their bodies slamming together over the storm. She grabbed his ass, pushing him deeper, and then whispered in his ear, “I want to feel you come inside me.” The words sent him wild. He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back, and licked her neck as he pumped into her with increasingly violent thrusts. She came first, her pussy clenching around his cock as she screamed his name, her thighs shaking against him. Marco followed close behind, exploding inside her with an animalistic grunt, his hot seed filling her womb as he clung to her to keep from collapsing.

They stood there, sweaty and panting, his cock still inside her as the rain pounded against the glass. Clara ran a hand over his face, laughing softly. “Is it over now?” she asked, her tone pure sex. He gave her one last thrust, making her moan, and replied, “Not until I fuck you again.” He picked her up and carried her to the couch, ready to make her scream again.