Turkish Gigolo that she meeting is at the bar in Istanbul when she walk in. Facing the door, he sits with one long leg hooked through the legs of the stool. A deep blue button down, the top three buttons open, accentuates his tanned skin. Turkish Gigolo is striving for casual, but there is a tension to the way he sits, a restlessness she can sense somewhere in her gut rather than see. As if he would prefer to pace and prowl the room while he waits. One broad palm cradles a tumbler of amber liquor. He swirls the drink close the rim, allows it to settle then raises it to his lips.

She pause in the doorway for a moment, her fingers tight around the cold brass of the handles, drinking him in. Then, drawing a deep breath, she stride across the dim-lit room. Turkish Gigolo’ eyes snap up, finding hers as surely as if he has caught my scent. Our gazes hold for a moment before he lowers his to drag it along the curves my clinging red dress does little to conceal. The pounding in my chest echos down through my stomach and legs, before settling as a warm throb between my thighs.

The smouldering heat in his eyes causes her nipples to tingle and pucker. They push against the thin fabric, eager to show off for Turkish Gigolo, already seeking his touch. He doesn’t miss them. The tip of his tongue emerges to dance along his bottom lip. She wonder if he is imagining peeling the silk away from her skin inch by inch. She have waited for this for so long. 

She stop close enough for the spicy aroma of his aftershave to tickle at her nose. “The pictures you sent don’t do you justice.” She allow her eyes to roam over the of his shoulders, down his chest, giving him a taste of his own medicine. Turkish Gigolo shifts in his seat, and a smile tugs her mouth. She have yet to touch him, and he is already growing hard — the soft fabric of his tailored pants strains over the bulge between his legs.

Anna.” His voice is rich as smoke on cold water. “Words can’t express how happy I am to meet you tonight.” Smiling wider, she drop a meaningful look at his crotch. “You don’t need words.”

Turkish Gigolo growls low in his throat, like an animal, and her blood fizzes and rushes in response. Her fingers twitch with the need to wrap themselves in his dark hair and pull until he cries out. Instead, she reach out and toy with the cuff of his sleeve. 

“Can I get you anything to drink?” the bartender asks. He has been watching them, a spark in his eager young eyes. He can smell the musk of desire in the air. For a second, she toy with the idea of asking when his shift ends, of inviting him to join them. There is such energetic youthfulness about him I experience a flash of nostalgia.

But then, Turkish Gigolo’s hand brushes along her hemline, just above the backs of her knees and she have to concentrate on keeping them from buckling. The thought of the bartender’s young, supple flesh drifts away, and she shiver on a tide of goosebumps as calloused fingers creep upwards to find the sensitive skin below her ass cheek. 

The young man blinks at me, thick lashes fluttering and with a nod he turns to fetch my order. While his back is to me, she lean forward, tipping her hips back while Turkish Gigolo’s sneaking fingers slip over the damp fabric of her panties. He traces along the lace edges, letting out a shaky breath. The sound spurs a rush of liquid heat straight through her. She choke back an answering moan as the bartender turns, setting a glass before her.

She take the shot, relishing the burn as the alcohol moves through her chest and stomach. Trailing her tongue over her lips, she suck the last drops of tart lime juice off them and enjoy the way Turkish Gigolo’s pupils dilate. He slams the rest of the whiskey in a single swallow and sets a fifty on the shining wood of the bar.

“Keep it,” Turkish Gigolo says to the bartender, who is still watching them with poorly concealed interest. Turkish Gigolo’s hands are already on her hips guiding her forward, pushing her toward the door. As if she need to be rushed.

They make it into the elevator and as the doors shut, they crash into one and other. Turkish Gigolo’s lips bruise mine, sucking and biting, his tongue dips into my mouth with wild strokes that coax a moan from deep within her. The rough, well-worked skin on his hands catches and snags in her hair as he forces his fingers through the thick, loose strands. Turkish Gigolo tips her head back, holding her there, exposing her neck to the scrape of his teeth and the sucking, sublime torture of his lips. 

Neither of them notices the elevator has stopped until a throat clears and they jump apart like guilty teens caught under the bleachers. She rasp, “this is our floor.” The woman standing outside the elevator does not attempt to meet their eyes, and they barely acknowledge her as they rush down the hallway.

She notice nothing about this hotel room they have rented for the night. Turkish Gigolo flicks on the lamps, and as the door slams behind them, and he is already seizing the hem of her dress and tugging it up and over her head. The world is Turkish Gigolo and his hands and the magic they are working on her body. There is no bra beneath the silk sheath, and he moans deep in his throat at the discovery. She tingling all over, slick with the need of him. He pauses only a moment in his onslaught to drink her in with desire-weighted eyes.

Turkish Gigolo’s hand circles her wrist, and he raises her arm, spinning her around on the spot, once, twice, before stopping her in front of the full-length mirror that sits beside the dresser. He studies her in the glass, his face creased with raw hunger. Her breasts are swollen, aching for his touch. Turkish Gigolo drags a fingertip over one puckered nipple, then the next before cupping them both in his palms. His chest hair tickles her back. Nothing hides her pussy from his hungry eyes but a black high cut thong that frames her bum like a picture. The delicate material rips as he slips his fingers into the waist and yanks sideways.

Their eyes hold in the mirror and a whimper escapes her as both his hands settle on her ass cheeks, rubbing in small circles. Turkish Gigolo pushes her forward, and she brace her hands against the cold glass, waiting. He slaps his palms against her, then squeezes hard enough to leave a mark. Her skin sings out in delectable pain. A cry falls off her lips, and she push her body back, seeking, needing the hard press of his desire against her. 

Turkish Gigolo obliges. A clatter of metal echoes in the room as his belt hits the floor. She move back from the mirror and try to turn to him but he shoves me forward, holding her down against the bed with a big hand on the back of her neck. The other hand spreads her folds wide, exposing her wet, hidden parts to the air.

She whimper into the cotton of the duvet. She need him so badly. As Turkish Gigolo’s body settles against her, the hair on his muscled legs rasps the overheated skin of her thighs. The thickness of his erection is poised against her, taunting, pulsing at the entrance to her body as he waits with infuriating patience to enter her.

Do you want it?” Turkish Gigolo murmurs, his voice a rumble from deep in his chest. The hand on the back her neck massages a moment, fingertips caressing tense muscles before his grip tightens. “Are you ready for me to fuck you, baby?” “Yes. Yes please,” she plead, her hips arching, seeking to fill the aching void.

“I want to hear you beg for it. Dirty, beautiful girl. Tell me you want my cock inside you.” She was shaking with a need so fierce, it’s dripping from her body and down her legs. “Please, ” she sob. “Please, Fuck me. I need you to fuck me. I want you to fill me with your cock.”

Her breath comes in high-pitched whimpering gasps. Finally, Turkish Gigolo thrusts with a pained moan, sinking himself inside her body to the base of his shaft.  “Oh yes, oh yes,” she chant as he slides out, only to plunge back into her again and again. The pounding of their bodies drives the headboard into the wall — a visceral, age-old rhythm. 

The room pulses in the corners of her vision. Her toes dig into the plush carpet, clinging as she struggle to stay upright enough to accommodate the pounding thrusts. Turkish Gigolo seizes her arms, pulling them both behind her back, pinning her down by her wrists with one hand. The other he uses to gather her hair and wraps it around his fist like a rope, holding her head back exposing her throat. She am helpless beneath him. Delectable trapped, entirely his. Heat floods her limbs. She clench around his cock as the first spasms of orgasm brim and spread through her womb and outwards. The muscles of her pussy squeeze around his cock. Turkish Gigolo shudders and moans.

Harder,” she cry the word like a mantra, “harder, harder.” she sink her teeth into her bottom lip as he complies. Turkish Gigolo is about to come, she can hear it in the gasping sobs he emits. In the desperate hammering, the slap of his thighs against hers, his fingers digging into her wrists as he holds her captive, she give herself over to her climax, to his, squeezing and shaking and crying out as he fills her up. 

She snuggle deeper against him, breathing in the familiar scents and wiggling her nose against the tickle of chest hair. Turkish Gigolo stretches, groaning as his body pops and creaks. “I cannot wait to have a lay in tomorrow. This is the best meeting i ever had.”

She nod, slipping toward unconsciousness, yet she was unwilling to allow it to seize her, not ready to let these precious moments alone with him get away just yet. One hand traces lazy circles around the bare skin of her shoulder, raising goosebumps. “I am going to fuck you again in the morning,” Turkish Gigolo says matter of factly.

“No.” She hide her smile in the blankets as he goes still. 

“No?” 

She tip her head up, searching for his mouth. “I am going to fuck you. I am going to ride you slowly until you are begging me to let you cum,” she whisper against his lips before she kiss them. “Goodnight, Turkish Gigolo kisses her back in the soft, sweet way, “Goodnight, anna,” in return, his cock is growing hard against her stomach.

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