The morning light filtered through half-drawn blinds, casting a warm, hazy glow over the rumpled sheets. My head throbbed like a bass drum, the kind of hangover that reminded me why I usually stuck to two beers at social events. I was wrecked—still am, honestly—but the ache in my muscles wasn’t just from the alcohol. It was the delicious kind of soreness that comes from hours of unfiltered connection, bodies pressed together in ways that blurred the line between lust and something deeper.
I shifted slightly, and there he was: Saul. The man from the BBQ. He lay beside me, propped on one elbow, his massive frame dominating the bed like a living sculpture carved from sun-kissed stone and silver-threaded resilience. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, dark hair matted across his broad pecs, trailing down in a thick line toward the edge of the sheet that barely covered his hips. That salt-and-pepper beard framed a face that looked equal parts satisfied and mischievous. His hand hovered near his forehead in that casual, half-shielding pose from the photo I’d snapped sometime in the night—palm open, fingers relaxed, as if waving hello to the chaos we’d created.
The look on his face spoke volumes. It wasn’t just post-sex glow; it was curiosity wrapped in tenderness, a quiet invitation that said, I see you. All of you. And I want more.
It started innocently enough at the neighborhood BBQ. I’d shown up late, still in my work polo, nursing a lukewarm soda while the grill smoke curled into the summer air. Saul was impossible to miss—six-foot-something of sculpted power, his arms like tree trunks as he flipped burgers with effortless precision. Gray streaked his dark hair and beard, giving him that distinguished bear vibe that hit me somewhere primal. We locked eyes over a platter of ribs, and the spark was immediate.
“You look like you could use a real drink,” he rumbled, his voice low and warm, like aged whiskey.
I laughed, accepting the beer he offered. “That obvious?”
We talked for hours as the sun dipped low. He was a contractor, divorced, with a dry wit that made the mundane feel electric. I told him about my dead-end marketing job, the way life had started to feel scripted. His eyes—deep brown, flecked with gold—held mine with genuine interest. No games. Just presence. When the party thinned out, he leaned in close, his hand brushing my shoulder. “Come back to my place? No pressure. Just… see where the night goes.”
I should’ve said no. I was wrecked even then, tipsy on beer and the thrill of his attention. But something in his gaze pulled me under.
The drive to his apartment was a blur of stolen glances and tentative touches. His truck smelled like sawdust and cologne. Inside, the debauchery began slowly, almost reverently. He poured us water first—ever the gentleman—then kissed me against the kitchen counter. It wasn’t rushed. His lips were soft beneath the beard, exploring mine with curious patience, as if mapping every response. I melted into him, hands roaming the hard planes of his back, feeling the heat radiate through his shirt.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against my neck, nipping gently. “Strong in ways people don’t see.”
We shed clothes like old skins. His body was a revelation up close—thick, powerful shoulders tapering to a solid waist, thighs like carved marble dusted with hair. My own frame felt smaller but eager against his. I traced the curve of his chest, thumbs circling his nipples until they pebbled. He groaned, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through me. Explicit need built quickly. He lifted me effortlessly onto the bed, his strength making me feel weightless and desired.
Our first time was raw but tender. Saul took his time, hands large and calloused yet gentle as they stroked down my sides, parting my legs with curious reverence. “Tell me what feels good,” he whispered, his breath hot against my inner thigh. I guided him, voice shaky, as his mouth found me—warm, insistent, exploring every sensitive inch with a lover’s curiosity. He savored me like fine wine, tongue circling, sucking softly then firmer, drawing out moans I didn’t know I could make. My hands fisted in his hair as waves of pleasure crashed over me.
When I begged for more, he obliged. Slick with lube from the nightstand, he entered me inch by inch, his thickness stretching me in that perfect burn of fullness. “Fuck, you feel incredible,” he breathed, forehead pressed to mine. We moved together—slow at first, romantic in the eye contact, the way he kissed me through every thrust. Then deeper, harder. Debauchery took over. He flipped me onto my stomach, one massive hand pinning my hip as he drove in from behind, the slap of skin echoing. I pushed back, meeting him thrust for thrust, lost in the explicit rhythm. His free hand reached around, stroking me in time, building us both toward the edge.
He came first, buried deep, groaning my name like a prayer. The feel of him pulsing inside me sent me over, spilling hot across the sheets. We collapsed in a tangle of limbs, laughing breathlessly at the mess.
But the night was far from over. Hours blurred into tender exploration. Saul was insatiable in the best way—curious about my body, my reactions. He traced every scar, every freckle, asking questions between kisses. “What’s this from?” His finger lingered on an old tattoo on my ribs. I told him stories; he shared his. It felt romantic, this intimacy beyond sex. We showered together, water cascading over his muscular form as I soaped his chest, dropping to my knees to take him in my mouth. He was thick, veined, filling me completely as I sucked and licked, eyes watering but eager. He threaded fingers through my hair, guiding gently, praising me in that velvet voice. “So good for me… look at you.”
Back in bed, we switched. I wanted to please him, to map his body the way he’d mapped mine. My hands gripped his powerful ass as I rimmed him, tongue delving curiously into that tight heat. He arched, moaning, one hand fisting the pillow. “Yes… fuck, don’t stop.” Turning him over, I rode him slow and deep, grinding down until his eyes rolled back. Sweat slicked our skin. His hands roamed my chest, pinching nipples, stroking my cock as I bounced. The explicitness mixed with romance—whispers of “you’re perfect,” “stay with me,” eyes locked in vulnerable connection.
We tried everything that night. Positions that tested limits, toys from his drawer that added new layers of sensation. He was dominant yet attentive, always checking in, making sure pleasure was mutual. At one point, wrecked on endorphins and another round of drinks, I knelt between his thighs, worshipping his cock with hands and mouth until he erupted across my chest. He pulled me up immediately, kissing me deeply, tasting himself on my tongue without hesitation. Romantic in its raw honesty.
Curiosity drove us. What made the other gasp? What hidden desires surfaced in the dark? Saul confessed a fondness for being edged; I indulged him for what felt like hours, bringing him to the brink with slow strokes and tight suction, only to pull back. His massive body trembled, veins standing out on his arms as he gripped the headboard. When he finally came, it was explosive, painting his abs in thick ropes. I licked him clean, tender and devoted.
Dawn crept in as we lay spent, his arm draped over me possessively. The look on his face now—softened by afterglow, beard tickling my shoulder—spoke of possibility. Not just a one-night debauchery, but something real. “Stay for breakfast?” he asked, voice husky.
I nodded, heart full. The hangover would pass, but the memory of his body, his touch, his curious tenderness? That lingered like a promise.
We’d met over burgers and small talk, but the night unfolded into explicit symphony—thrusts that left me sore, kisses that healed, explorations that bonded us. Saul wasn’t just a conquest; he was a revelation. Strong, gentle, hungry in all the right ways. As I traced the curve of his bicep in the morning light, I wondered what other nights like this held.
The rest of the world could wait. For now, it was just us—wrecked, sated, and curiously in love with whatever came next.
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