It’s late. Past midnight. The hallway light flickers dimly, casting long shadows on the worn carpet. I slip out of 303, barefoot, thin nightie clinging to my skin from the shower’s steam. Heart thuds. Everyone’s asleep. Specials in their units, recovering from VR sessions. But 314… he’s there. Door to 314 cracks open just as I pass.
His silhouette fills the frame. Mask off, hood down. Those ocean-blue eyes lock on mine. No words. Just a nod. Pulls me in by the wrist. Door clicks shut soft. Too soft. Parquet creaks under our feet. I glance back—sliver of light under the door. Neighbors could hear. The chef’s apartment next door. Fuck.
The Contact
He presses me against the bay window. City lights blur outside. Cold glass on my ass cheeks. His breath hot on my neck. Hands rough, sliding up my thighs. “Quiet,” he whispers, voice gravel. Fingers find my pussy, already slick. I bite my lip. No panties. Stupid, horny me.
Our eyes meet in the reflection. His blue piercing me. I turn, drop to knees. Parquet bites skin. Unzip him slow. Cock springs out, thick, veined. Smells musky, real. I swallow him deep. Gagging soft. His hand fists my hair. Hips buck gentle. Slurps echo too loud. Freeze. Listen. Nothing. Just our breaths.
He yanks me up. Spins me. Nightie hikes. Face to glass. Stars wink mockingly. He thrusts in raw. No condom. Pussy stretches, burns sweet. I stifle moan. Hand over mouth. He pounds steady. Wet slaps muffled. Floor creaks rhythm. Risk spikes thrill. What if chef wakes? Hears his soldier fucking the cook?
The Indiscretion
Sweat beads. His grunts low, animal. Fingers dig hips. Bruise tomorrow. I clench around him. Push back. Deeper. Balls slap ass quiet. Light filters under door—someone stirs? Panic surges. Hotter. Cum builds. He growls, “Now.” Floods me. Thick ropes. I shatter silent, thighs quake. Pussy milks every drop.
He pulls out. Cum drips down leg. Sticky shame. Quick wipe with his shirt. No kiss. Just eyes. Blue fire. I nod. Slip out. Door whispers shut. Hallway empty. Bare feet pad to 303. Heart hammers chest. Pass 305—chef’s restaurant door. No light. Safe.
Inside, collapse on bed. Legs tremble. Pussy throbs, full of him. Listen to walls. Silence. Squad sleeps. Secret mine. Tomorrow, serve them breakfast. Smile innocent. His cum leaks slow. Grin in dark. Thrill lingers. Indiscretion perfect.