Early to the Party

Charles was hanging streamers when the doorbell rang an hour early. He opened up to find Chanel standing there in heels and a tight red dress like she’d just stepped off a catwalk. “You’re…early?” he managed. “Apparently the birthday boy thinks pranks are cute,” she said, shrugging off a coat that probably cost more than Charles’s rent. They stared at each other, balloons half-blown on the table between them. “Well,” Charles said, clearing his throat, “we’ve got an hour to kill. Shots?” Two rounds later they were on the couch, knees brushing. Chanel’s laugh came easy and low. “This dress is a crime,” she murmured, tugging the hem higher on accident. Charles swallowed. “Then consider me an accomplice.” She leaned in first. The kiss started slow, then caught like dry kindling. Clothes came off in impatient layers—her dress pooling around her ankles, his shirt somewhere across the room. Charles sank to his knees, kissing up the inside of her thigh until Chanel’s fingers tangled in his hair and her breath hitched. He licked once, slow and teasing; she swore, thighs flexing around his head. They didn’t make it to the bedroom. Charles ended up flat on the rug, cock thick and flushed while Chanel straddled him, taking him in one slick slide that left both of them gasping. Her hands braced on his chest, hips rolling hard, riding him like the rest of the party could show up any minute and she didn’t care. Charles gripped her waist, thrusting up to meet each bounce, skin slapping, her tits swaying right above his mouth. He caught one nipple between his lips, sucked until she cursed and ground down harder. She came first, clenching tight around him, a broken moan punched out of her throat. Charles followed seconds later, hips jerking, heat spilling deep. They stayed like that a moment—sweaty, laughing, breathing hard—until the clock on the wall reminded them guests would be arriving soon. Chanel grinned down at him. “We’ll just tell them the party started without them.”