escort diary® of Kiara Edwards: Her cure for his day
The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the city outside. Candles flickered in the corners, soft music curled through the air, and she moved restlessly from room to room. She had been waiting for him, knowing how heavy his day had been, knowing he would return home carrying the kind of tired weight that made him forget the world could feel good.
She wanted to take it all away.
That was why she had chosen the lingerie. Red lace, delicate and daring, the bra hugging her breasts so tightly that her nipples pressed against the fabric, the panties framing her hips like fire. She caught sight of herself in the mirror—barefoot, hair loose, lace glowing against her skin—and smiled. He would not last five seconds.
When the lock finally clicked, her body stirred before her mind. She padded to the door and leaned against the wall with one hand on her hip, her expression a wicked invitation.
He stepped inside, weary and distracted, until his eyes found her. His breath caught. His bag slipped from his hand and thudded against the floor. For a moment exhaustion and desire collided in his gaze, and then desire consumed it.
“Drop everything,” she whispered, crossing the room with a slow sway of her hips. “Tonight I’ll take care of you.”
Her lips found his before he could speak. The kiss was soft but insistent, her body pressing into his until the lace scraped against his shirt. Her fingers tugged his tie free, letting it fall away, then unbuttoned his shirt one piece at a time, kissing each patch of skin as it was revealed. By the time she had him stripped and eased onto the bed, his breath was ragged, his stress already dissolving.
She climbed onto the mattress and straddled him, red lace glowing in the candlelight. His cock strained against his trousers, and her smile was slow and hungry as she freed him, hard and heavy in her hand. Sliding down his body, she kissed a trail to his hips before wrapping her lips around him.
The sound he made as she took him deep vibrated through her. She worked him with her mouth in long, deliberate strokes, her hand twisting at the base, her tongue circling the head until his hips bucked against her lips. His groans filled the room, low and unrestrained.
Just as he was on the edge, his hand fisting in her hair, she pulled away with a glint in her eyes. Her lips glistened, her smile wicked.
“Not yet,” she teased, crawling back up his body to straddle his chest. She tugged her bra down and let her tits spill free, soft and full, nipples tight with need. She pressed them together, leaned forward, and stroked his cock again, holding his gaze.
“Finish for me,” she whispered. “Right here.”
The words undid him. His whole body tensed, his breath broke, and then he erupted, thick hot ropes of cum spilling across her breasts, streaking her pale skin and the lace that still clung to her body. She kept stroking him through it, milking every last drop, her soft moans mingling with his until he collapsed against the bed, spent and trembling.
She stayed there, fingers lazily smearing his release over her tits, dragging it across her nipples, letting the candlelight catch on her glistening skin. Then she leaned down and kissed him, slow and deep, her sticky breasts pressing against his chest so he could feel every trace of how completely she had undone him.
The room was quiet except for their breathing. The air was thick with heat, her body still trembling with satisfaction. She had given him exactly what she promised—his release, his surrender, his stress left behind on her skin.
