Nights were our sanctuary, the house silent save for the distant hum of crickets outside. His father slept soundly down the hall, oblivious. I'd wait until midnight, the clock's soft tick amplifying the nocturnal quiet, before slipping into Alex's room. The door creaked faintly as I entered, moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting silvery glows on the rumpled sheets—soft cotton, worn from years of use, cool against my heated skin.
He was already half-awake, as if sensing me, his eyes fluttering open when I lifted the covers and slid in beside him. The bed dipped under my weight, the mattress conforming to our bodies, enveloping us in intimacy. "Couldn't sleep?" he murmured, voice husky with sleep and desire.
"Not without you," I whispered, my hand trailing down his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart accelerate. The sheets whispered against us—silky friction as I shifted closer, my leg draping over his, thigh pressing against the growing hardness in his boxers. I peeled them down slowly, exposing him—his cock springing free, thick and ready, the skin velvety smooth under my fingers. I stroked him languidly, thumb circling the head, spreading the bead of pre-cum that welled up, making him slick.
The quiet amplified every sound—his sharp intake of breath, the rustle of fabric as I positioned myself. I crawled over him, straddling in reverse, my back to him, giving him the view he craved. The sheets tangled around my knees, adding a layer of restraint, heightening the tension. I hovered above his cock, letting just the tip brush my entrance—wet, swollen lips parting slightly, teasing us both. The nocturnal hush made it feel exposed, intimate, like the world had paused for this moment.
Slowly, I sank down, inch by inch, feeling the stretch, the fullness as he filled me completely. My ass was on full display—curves bouncing subtly at first, the movement visualized in the dim light, shadows playing across my skin. He watched, transfixed—I could feel his gaze burning, adding an exhibitionist thrill, as if we were performing for an invisible audience. His hands gripped my hips, guiding but not rushing, fingers tracing the dimples at my lower back before sliding up to cup my ass, spreading me wider for a better view.
I rode him with deliberate slowness—up, almost off, then down, grinding at the base where my clit rubbed against him, sparks of pleasure building. The bed creaked faintly with each motion, a rhythmic underscore to our heavy breaths. Sheet textures clung—damp now from sweat, sticking to my thighs, amplifying the sensory overload. I arched my back, letting my hair cascade down, tickling his legs, while one hand reached back to fondle his balls—heavy, tightening under my touch.
"Fuck, you look incredible," he groaned, voice breaking the quiet like a confession. I sped up just a fraction, ass cheeks clapping softly against him, the visual of my movement—rippling flesh, the way my pussy swallowed him—driving him wild. The exhibitionism fueled me; I imagined his eyes devouring every detail, the way my body moved for him alone.
Tension coiled, slow-burning, until I leaned forward, changing the angle, his cock hitting deeper. My fingers found my clit, circling frantically now, and he thrust up to meet me. The orgasm built gradually, a wave cresting—my walls fluttering, then clenching hard, drawing a guttural moan from him as he came, flooding me with heat.
We collapsed into the sheets, tangled and sated, the quiet wrapping around us like a secret.