Erotic Fiction: All Eyes on Him

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From the moment he walked into the bar, I couldn’t stop watching him. His presence had a magnetism that was impossible to ignore. Tall, with broad shoulders and a sharp jawline, he moved with a confidence that seemed utterly effortless. His crisp white shirt stretched perfectly across his chest, hinting at the strength beneath, and his sleeves were rolled just enough to reveal forearms that could make any woman weak.

It wasn’t just his looks though, that were devastating; it was the way he carried himself, the easy charm in his smile, and the subtle dominance in his stride. He was exactly the kind of man who probably had women throwing themselves at his feet—and tonight, I decided I would be one of them.

Leaning back in my chair, I swirled my drink idly, pretending not to notice how often my gaze lingered on him. He’d claimed a spot near the bar, his broad back turned to me, but I caught the occasional glimpse of his profile when he leaned forward to speak with the bartender. His lips curved into a smile at something she said, and a low heat simmered in my belly.

I had never been shy about taking what I wanted, and tonight would be no different.

I finished my drink in one deliberate swallow, letting the burn of the liquor ignite my confidence. My heels clicked against the floor as I crossed the room, the sound swallowed by the hum of music and conversation. He didn’t notice me at first—he was too focused on his drink, his hand gripping the glass like it was an extension of himself.

When I stopped beside him, I cleared my throat softly. “Is this seat taken?”

He turned toward me, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, locked on mine, and the corner of his mouth quirked into a lopsided smile.

“It is now,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, like velvet over steel.

I slipped onto the barstool, leaning slightly toward him. Up close, he was even more arresting. The stubble along his jawline caught the light, and the faint scent of his cologne—a heady mix of cedar and spice—wrapped around me like a drug.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” I said, tilting my head. “You don’t strike me as the type to go unnoticed.”

His laugh was low, almost a rumble. “And you don’t strike me as the type to let something—or someone—you want slip away.”

Touché.

We exchanged names, his—Jon—rolling easily off his tongue. The conversation flowed effortlessly, each word stoking the tension between us. I let my fingers trail along the edge of my glass, knowing full well his eyes were watching the movement.

Finally, I leaned in, my lips just inches from his ear. “I think we should get out of here,” I whispered, my voice low and deliberate.

His gaze darkened, his pupils dilating as his lips parted slightly. He didn’t ask for clarification. He didn’t hesitate.

Within minutes, we were in the back of a cab, the space between us charged with anticipation. His thigh pressed against mine, solid and warm, as he turned his head to study me. His fingers brushed my knee, a light, teasing touch that sent a jolt of desire straight to my core.

When we reached his building, he led me upstairs without a word. His hand rested at the small of my back as he unlocked the door, the touch possessive and firm. As soon as we stepped inside, he closed the door and turned to face me, his expression unreadable.

“I’m not usually this impulsive,” he said, his voice low, his grin giving away his lie.

I smiled, stepping closer until our bodies were nearly touching. “Mhmm, neither am I. But there’s a first time for everything.” I winked, the fib reciprocated.

I reached for the buttons on his shirt, my fingers steady despite the racing of my heart. His breath hitched as I slid the fabric off his shoulders, revealing a torso that was every bit as sculpted as I’d imagined. My hands skimmed over his chest, lingering on the hard planes of muscle, savouring the way he tensed under my touch.

“You’re even more stunning than I thought,” I murmured, my voice dripping with appreciation.

His hands found my waist, his grip firm as he pulled me flush against him. “And you’re trouble,” he said, his lips brushing against mine.

“Maybe,” I replied, pressing a kiss to his jaw, just below his ear, “but I think you like that.”

I took my time exploring him, letting my hands and lips roam freely. His sharp intake of breath, when I nipped at his collarbone, sent a thrill through me. He wasn’t just beautiful; he was responsive, his body attuned to every touch, every whisper.

When I dropped to my knees in front of him, his sharp exhale was all the encouragement I needed. I wanted to worship him, to draw out every sound of pleasure I could.

I let my lips trail down his chest and stomach, savouring the way his muscles tensed with each kiss, each flick of my tongue. His hands tangled briefly in my hair, his restraint evident in the way his grip loosened before tightening again. He was strong, sure, but there was a vulnerability in the way he allowed himself to surrender to my touch.

But I wasn’t the only one with control tonight.

Before long, Jon’s hands were at my waist, lifting me to my feet with surprising ease. His mouth crashed into mine, hungry and insistent, and I melted into the kiss, the force of his desire igniting a fire deep in my core.

“This time,” he murmured against my lips, his voice rough with need, “it’s my turn.”

He spun me around with a confidence that made my pulse race, pressing me against the wall. His hands gripped my hips firmly, pulling me back against him. His erection pressed into me, a promise of what was to come, and I moaned softly at the delicious friction.

“Stay right there,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

He tugged at the hem of my dress, sliding it up and over my hips. The cool air brushed against my exposed skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating between us. His hands skimmed over my thighs, teasing, before hooking into the sides of my lace panties and pulling them down in one smooth motion.

I braced myself against the wall as he knelt behind me, his lips and tongue exploring with a thoroughness that left me trembling. Every flick, every stroke sent waves of pleasure coursing through me, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

“Jon,” I moaned, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Not yet,” he murmured, his breath warm against my skin. “I want to hear you beg for it.”

When he finally rose to his feet, I could feel the heat of his body pressing against mine, his chest grazing my back as his hands explored my curves. He guided me to the centre of the room, his movements deliberate and assured.

“On your hands and knees,” he said softly, his voice tinged with a mix of authority and desire.

I sank to the floor, the plush rug beneath me cushioning my palms and knees. The vulnerability of the position was electrifying, made all the more thrilling by the way his hands lingered on my waist, steadying me as he positioned himself behind me.

The first slow thrust stole my breath. He moved with a deliberate rhythm, each movement precise and unhurried, as though savouring every second of the connection. His hands gripped my hips firmly, holding me in place as he drove deeper, his control faltering only slightly as the intensity built between us.

I pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts with equal fervour. The sounds of our bodies moving together filled the room, a symphony of desire that spurred us on. My fingers curled into the rug as pleasure surged through me, each movement bringing me closer to the edge.

“God, Adda,” he groaned, his voice strained. “You feel...incredible.”

The angle, the depth, the sheer rawness of the moment—it was all too much, yet not enough. He leaned over me, his chest brushing against my back, and his hand slipped around to tease me where I was most sensitive.

The added sensation sent me spiralling, my climax crashing over me in waves so intense I couldn’t hold back the cries that tore from my throat. He followed soon after, his movements faltering as his release claimed him, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips.

For a moment, we stayed like that, tangled together, our breaths mingling as we came down from the high. When he finally pulled away, it was with a tenderness that felt almost intimate, his hands helping me to my feet before pulling me into his arms.

“That,” he said in a low chuckle, “was worth every second of anticipation.”

I smiled, leaning into him as the heat of the moment began to fade, leaving only a lingering satisfaction that warmed me to my core.

“And to think,” I murmured, tilting my head to meet his gaze, “it all started with me watching you from across the bar.”