The coat off

I took the white coat half off in the locked shop, teal top underneath, hair still pulled back, labels a blur because I was already done thinking about work. Nobody else was there. I do not mix the counter with my body. I am saying the rest from home, phone on the nightstand, because the sex was here, in our house, with Samir. He is forty-four, my lover in the life we already share. He had the lamp on and a bottle of oil on the side table and he asked, before he touched me, if I wanted hands or if I wanted sleep. I said hands. I said I want you to rub the day out and then fuck my cunt. I said I will tell you if it is too much.

He started at my feet, thumbs in the arches, then calves, then the small of my back after I lay down and let the coat stay on the chair where it belongs, not in this room. Oil, warm, unhurried. When he reached my shoulders I was humming. I said you can go lower in front. He eased me over and massaged my breasts, then my stomach, then asked if he could touch my cunt. I said yes, oiled fingers, slow. He rubbed my clit in the same slow circles as the massage until the tiredness flipped into heat. I said I want your cock in my cunt. He put his cock into my cunt on a long stroke, still oily, still careful, forehead on mine.

I came with my knees up and his thumb on my clit, telling him do not stop, your cock feels so good. He asked if he could cum. I said yes, in my cunt, then stay. He did, shaking, and he did not roll away. Aftercare is the part I crave as much as the orgasm. He brought water. He wiped the oil with a warm towel. He told me I worked hard and that I was lovely and that the house had me now. I drank. I kept a hand on his chest until my pulse matched his. Work did not get to come into the bed. He did. I am still soft from that fuck.