Aletta's poolside date

Aletta stretches out on the poolside bench. Sunlight warms her skin until a man in white steps into the light. The contrast pulls her gaze from the sky to his mouth, his hands. He wastes no time. Fingers trace the slope of her breasts, then cup them, thumbs circling until her nipples tighten. She arches, offering more. He follows her cue, mouth hot on her throat, teeth grazing the thin skin where her pulse beats. Her legs fall open. He slides between them and presses her deeper into the bench. Fabric slides aside. Warm palms spread her, expose her. She is slick before he even slips two fingers inside, curling slow and deliberate. Her breath catches. Every thrust of his hand pushes a soft sound out of her. She answers by rolling her hips, greedy for the pressure, the stretch, the easy slide of skin on skin. He leans in, biting at her collarbone while he works her open, until her thighs tremble and her back lifts clear of the stone. Only then does he free himself, line up, and push inside in one long stroke. She gasps at the sudden fullness, fingers digging into his shoulders. He fucks her with measured rhythm, hips snapping against hers, each thrust jolting her breasts. Sweat beads on his brow and hers. The bench creaks under them. She wraps her legs around his waist, heels pressing him closer, chasing the angle that makes her toes curl. When release hits it breaks in slow waves. Her body clamps around him, milking every pulse, every grunt he gives against her neck. The sun keeps beating down. He stays buried deep until the last shiver fades, then eases out, leaving her flushed, glistening, and utterly spent on the warm stone.