The Hip Brush

I spotted her across the crowded gallery, Elena Voss, the sharp-tongued sculptor whose work dominated the walls. Her dark eyes locked on mine as I approached, a smirk already playing on her lips. "You again? Last time you tried to mansplain my own pieces to me," she said, voice low and teasing. I grinned, leaning in just enough. "Only because your work demands explanation to the uninitiated. Care for a drink, or are you too busy intimidating the room?" She laughed, a throaty sound that sent heat straight through me. We bantered for twenty minutes, trading barbs about art, desire, and the ridiculousness of small talk. Her wit matched mine blow for blow, each retort making the air between us crackle. When the crowd thinned, I stepped closer. "You know, Elena, I've been thinking about that hip of yours since you walked in." Her eyebrow arched. "Bold claim. Prove it without tripping over your own ego." My hand found her hip, brushing gently at first, fingers tracing the curve through her silk dress. She shifted, and in that movement her palm grazed my chest—accidentally, or so it seemed—brushing against my pecs and down over my abs. The contact lingered, her touch firm, exploring. "Accident?" I murmured. "Feels deliberate." She pressed closer, her breath warm. "Maybe I wanted to feel if those muscles live up to the hype. You're sweating already, aren't you?" My cock stirred, hardening against the fabric of my pants as her fingers trailed lower. The tension built like a slow burn, our dialogue turning explicit. "You're getting me wet just standing here," she admitted with a wicked grin, strong and unapologetic. "But don't think that means I'm following your lead." We slipped into a private alcove, the gallery's back room. Clothes came off in a rush of panting breaths. Her hand wrapped around my hard cock, stroking with purpose while she whispered, "This is mine to command tonight." I dropped to taste her, but she pulled me up, strong thighs guiding me. "No, I want that cock inside me now." She pushed me back onto the velvet chaise, straddling with confidence. Her pussy was dripping wet as she sank down, taking me deep. We moved together, her ass grinding in rhythm, sweat slicking our skin. "Harder," she demanded between witty jabs about my stamina. I thrust up, her walls clenching as she came first, crying out. Moments later I followed, cum spilling as we panted through the release. She collapsed against my chest, still smirking. "Round one to me, but the night's young." The door clicked open faintly in the distance, promising more encounters ahead.