A View From the Sheets
With Natalie Lind
Written by TheLW
Codes: MF, Blowjob
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.
(https://thumbs2.imgbox.com/36/cd/BI6HOudH_t.jpg) (https://imgbox.com/BI6HOudH) (https://thumbs2.imgbox.com/f4/72/5XJBxicx_t.jpg) (https://imgbox.com/5XJBxicx)
(Story Inspired by Pixs)
The morning sunlight spilled into the suite in long golden ribbons, warming the white sheets tangled around Natalie’s legs. She lay half-reclined against a nest of pillows, her robe loosely tied, the folds parting just enough to promise more. One bare knee peeked through the gap, catching the light. The room felt still, almost suspended in time. A carafe of water on the nightstand caught the glow, the city beyond the window softened by heavy curtains. Natalie had no plans today, no meetings, no obligations, just the indulgence of taking the day on her own terms. That started with room service.
A firm knock broke the quietness.
“Room service,” a deep voice called through the door.
Her lips curved faintly. “Come in,” she said.
The door opened, and he stepped inside, tall, broad-shouldered, his sleeves rolled to the elbow. The silver tray in his hands seemed almost weightless the way he carried it, though steam curled up from the coffee pot as if reminding them both why he was here. His eyes moved over the room, then caught on her, sprawled in bed, sunlight catching the edges of her golden hair.
He set the tray at the foot of the bed. The scent of fresh coffee drifted between them, blending with the warm trace of his cologne. Natalie leaned forward, her fingers brushing his as she took the carafe from him, her touch light but intentional.
“Do I sign here?” she asked, tapping the bill holder with a manicured nail.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
She tilted her head, holding his gaze a fraction too long. “Or,” she murmured, her tone dipping lower, “I could skip the paper... and just be your tip.”
A look of surprise crossed his face, followed quickly by the hint of a smile. “And what would that entail?” His voice was different now, softer, but edged with curiosity.
Natalie didn’t answer right away. She toyed with the belt of her robe, twisting the soft fabric between her fingers as her eyes stayed locked on his. “So,” she said at last, her voice smooth, “what’s it going to be? Are you ready for the best tip you’ll ever get... and maybe a morning you’ll never forget?”
The pause that followed felt longer than it was. His gaze dipped briefly, collarbone, the looseness of the robe, the faint line of bare skin beneath, before returning to her eyes. He swallowed. “Yes.”
Her smile deepened, slow and certain. She shifted against the pillows, letting the moment breathe, her fingers working the belt with unhurried precision. The knot loosened, the robe relaxing in its hold. A subtle shift of her shoulders let the fabric part slightly, revealing the faintest ribbon of sunlight tracing down her chest before disappearing into shadow.
He didn’t move. His eyes followed the gradual reveal without meaning to, the air thick between them.
Natalie leaned back further, her movements smooth and languid. The robe slid wider, the fabric gliding over her skin like water spilling away, pausing at her elbows before slipping lower. The sunlight seemed to follow, spilling across her in warm, glowing lines until the robe lay in loose folds at her sides.
She kept her gaze locked on him, calm, in control, her breathing slow. The silence was almost heavy now, broken only by the faint hum of the vent and the soft clink of silverware when he shifted his stance.
Finally, when the robe had given her completely to the morning light, she let a small, knowing smirk curl her lips.
“Good,” Natalie whispered, her voice soft but certain. “Then don’t keep me waiting.”
He didn’t even bother undressing completely. Just the necessary, the belt, the black pants, the impossible stretch of anticipation in between. As he pulled his cock out, Natalie moved in front of him, and took his cock into her mouth. He was big, and hard already, and the shock of her lips, warm, open, unhesitating, made him groan almost immediately.
Natalie held him by the base, her palm pressing into the hot, silken skin, and swirled her tongue along the underside with the kind of patience that always left her partners wrecked. She watched his face as she worked, loving the way it turned slack, the way his eyelids fluttered when she grazed her teeth just enough to send a warning, then soothed away the threat with soft, wet laps.
She bobbed her head, slow at first, drawing it out, coaxing him to let go of whatever goddamn propriety he’d brought up the service elevator. He tried to stay quiet, tried to keep breathing steady, but she took him deeper, swallowing until she tasted the salt of him at the back of her tongue.
This time his hands found her head, one palm cupping the nape of her neck, the other bracing against her shoulder. Natalie could sense him wrestling with decorum, that fragile line between guest and staff, and relished the way it buckled each time she took him all the way, nose pressed to his stomach, heat rushing in her chest and thighs.
When he finally lost it, she tasted the start of his climax before she felt it, he tensed, legs trembling, and she wanted him undone, wanted the proof of it, so she didn't slow down even as he started to come down her throat.
The man was still hard though, and a few seconds later, they switched up positions, as Natalie’s breath shuttled out of her in a soundless gasp as he caught her by both ankles, hoisted her legs straight up, and spread her open with a kind of rude efficiency that should have made her feel at least a little humiliated.
The first push of him was blunt and inevitable, a pressure against her that wasn’t gentle but wasn’t careless either, just necessary, as though he’d been assigned this task and only now remembered how badly he wanted it. Natalie’s fingers scrabbled for the sheets as his cock pressed in and opened her, thick and hard and so much hotter than she’d braced for.
He gripped both her calves in one huge hand and used the other to pin her hip, holding her steady for the rhythm he set. Deeper, then deeper still, each slide measured but also urgent, as if there was something at the center of her he needed to reach. Natalie bit her lip to keep from sounding greedy, but it was useless, slick sounds and raw gasps leaking out with every drive of his body into hers. She could hear her own heartbeat spike in her ears, feel herself sweating in the pocket of sunlight that lay across the bed. Her nerves sang.
His shirt was still on, his cuff scraping at her thigh every time he braced to drive in deeper. He was all muscle, sweat beading on his brow, his jaw set with a kind of reverence that made her want to laugh and sob at once. The tray clattered imperceptibly on the edge of the bed with each of his thrusts. The coffee poured itself out of the carafe, a slow, fragrant drip pooling into the white saucer, steady as his hips and relentless as her mounting pulse.
He let out a hoarse, amused little sound when her ankle slipped from his grasp, then just bent over and caught it in his teeth, biting hard enough for her to feel it for the rest of the day. The sheets were twisted beneath her, her hands clinging to the mattress as leverage, and when the headboard knocked the wall she thought, let the neighbors complain if they’re awake at this hour, let them take notes.
Natalie locked her ankles at the small of his back, pulling him into her, her whole body thrumming as the headboard banged against the wall. She could taste him in her mouth still, a saline tang sharp at the back of her tongue, and the knowledge of it sent a bright bolt through her. The sheets bunched in her fists as she took him, groaning out the name on his badge, Sam, she thought, and smiled at the absurdity of ever letting him be anonymous again.
She felt it coming fast and hot, a tremor at first, then a hard spasm along her spine. Her body began to buck against him, a reflexive, involuntary scramble, every muscle tight as a wire. She choked on a scream, her throat raw with it as his cock kept sawing inside her, not slowing, not merciful, the friction against her so sharp and constant it tore her in half.
He fucked her harder, as if he could sense that edge and was determined to shove her over it. It worked, she broke with it, the orgasm hitting her so hard she lost time, the world narrowing to a single continuous feeling: rippling, blinding, a perfect, shattering whiteness.
The man shifted his position, pulled her knees higher and apart, his rough grip bruising in a way she’d remember, as if trying to split her open with his hands. Natalie locked her thighs around his hips and arched so hard the small of her back threatened to lift off the mattress. She stared up at the ceiling, spots blooming and bursting behind her eyelids, then forced herself to look, to see, because the face he made above her, brow knotted, lips parted, jaw tensed with effort and restraint, was almost as exquisite as the sensations detonating through her own body.
He let out a sound, guttural and short, and slammed all the way in, then held there, tremors rolling through his arms as he supported himself over her. Natalie clamped down around him, greedy for every last shiver of it. For a moment, they just breathed, the sweat slick between them enough to soak her hair back onto the pillow. She felt a pulse, then another, and then the damp sudden release as he finally spilled into her well fucked pussy.
A moment later, Natalie sagged back against the pillows, her body still trembling, every nerve alight from the storm that had passed through her. The sheets were tangled, damp and warm, clinging to her skin, the faint scent of him lingering in the air. She let out a slow, ragged breath, fingers tracing over the curve of her hip as she sank fully into the soft nest of pillows. For a moment, the room was silent again, save for the soft hum of the city outside. She closed her eyes and smiled, that same slow, knowing curl that had crossed her lips when it began, feeling utterly satisfied, utterly claimed… and completely, deliciously herself.
The End
A View From the Sheets #3
With Lili Reinhart
Written by TheLW
Codes: MF, Fingering, Massage
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.
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The late-afternoon light in the suite was soft and golden, filtering through sheer curtains and catching on the tufted blush-pink headboard. Lili Reinhart sat cross-legged in the middle of the enormous bed, white terrycloth robe loosely belted, bare legs folded beneath her. One of the hotel’s monogrammed pillows — Lili embroidered in delicate script — rested against her hip. An open laptop glowed on the duvet in front of her, script pages half-read. In her hand, she held the last of a warm pastry, flaky crumbs scattered across the robe and the sheets.
Lili took a slow bite, eyes half-lidded, and let out a soft, contented hum. The day had been long. Tonight she had nowhere to be. It was just this quiet room and the ache that had settled between her shoulders.
She set the pastry down, wiped her fingers, and reached for the phone.
“Room service,” she said when the line connected. “I’d like a massage. In-room. As soon as possible.”
Twenty minutes later, the knock came.
The man who entered was tall, dark-haired, in his mid-thirties, wearing the hotel’s crisp white shirt and black trousers. He carried a folded massage table and a small leather bag. His eyes took in the scene in one glance: the open robe, the crumbs on the sheets, the woman looking completely at home in the middle of the bed.
“Miss Reinhart,” he said. “I’m Marco. Where would you like me to set up?”
She gestured toward the open space near the windows. “There is fine.”
He unfolded the table with ease, draped it in fresh linens, and set out oils. When he turned back, she had already slipped out of the robe, letting it fall to the floor. She climbed onto the table face-down, cheek resting on her folded arms, blonde hair swept to one side.
Marco warmed oil between his palms and started at her shoulders. Firm, confident pressure worked the knots from her upper back, then lower, thumbs tracing the line of her spine. He moved with quiet focus, the only sounds the soft glide of skin and the distant city below. When he reached the small of her back, he paused, waiting. Lili shifted her hips just slightly — permission enough.
His hands slid lower, oil-slick palms smoothing over the curve of her ass, thumbs dipping into the soft hollows where thigh met cheek. He worked the muscles of her glutes with deep, circular strokes until her breathing deepened. Then one hand slipped between her parted thighs, fingers brushing the already-damp heat of her.
Lili’s breath caught.
Marco didn’t rush. He traced the outer lips first, slow and deliberate, then parted them with two fingers and found her clitoris. Circles. Light at first, then firmer as her hips began to roll against the table. When he slid two fingers inside her, she let out a soft, broken sound into her arms. He curled them, pressing upward, working her with the same steady patience he had used on her shoulders. The wet sound of his fingers moving in and out filled the quiet suite.
He stayed there for a long time, building her carefully. His free hand never stopped roaming — kneading the back of one thigh, then the other, spreading her wider so he could sink his fingers deeper. Every few seconds he withdrew almost completely, only the tips of his fingers still inside her, before pressing back in with a twist that made her toes curl against the edge of the massage table. Oil mixed with her own slickness, turning the slide of his hand obscenely smooth.
Lili’s arms were folded beneath her cheek. Her eyes had closed sometime between the first touch and the third curl of his fingers. Soft, helpless sounds kept slipping from her throat — little hitches and sighs that grew sharper whenever he found the spot that made her thighs tremble. Marco listened to every one of them, adjusting the pressure, angle, and speed. When her hips started chasing his hand more urgently, he slowed down again, drawing the pleasure out until she was quietly panting.
He leaned over her, chest nearly brushing her back, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the knotted muscle between her shoulder blades. His fingers never stopped. Two became three, stretching her carefully, still working that same upward pleasure that made her see sparks behind her eyelids. The wet, rhythmic sound of it filled the room, undercut by the low hum of the city far below the open balcony doors.
“Marco...” His name came out rough, almost a plea.
He answered by spreading her open with his other hand, thumb finding her clit again while his fingers kept their steady, relentless pace inside her. Circles tightened. Pressure increased. Her whole body began to tighten around him, thighs quivering, back arching slightly off the table. He felt the first flutter of her orgasm and stayed exactly where he was, neither speeding up nor slowing down, just holding her through it as the pleasure broke over her in long, shaking waves.
Lili’s cry was muffled against her arms. Her hips jerked once, twice, then ground down hard against his hand as she came, flooding his fingers. Marco kept working her through every pulsating moment of it, gentling only when the tremors began to ease, until she was soft and liquid beneath him again, breathing hard into the warm wood of the table.
He withdrew slowly, carefully, and rested both hands on the backs of her thighs, stroking the sensitive skin there while she came down. Oil and her release shone between her legs in the low light. Outside, the city kept moving, distant and indifferent. Inside the suite there was only the sound of Lili’s uneven breath and the quiet, patient presence of the man who had just taken her apart with nothing but his hands.
“Get on the bed,” she said.
He helped her down from the table, hands steady at her waist as her legs proved momentarily unsteady. Oil still gleamed along the curve of her spine and the soft insides of her thighs. Lili didn’t speak — only turned, took his wrist, and led him the few steps to the enormous bed. The sheets were cool against her calves as she climbed up first, then pushed him gently but firmly onto his back against the pink headboard. The monogrammed pillow ended up under his shoulders, framing the dark line of his throat.
Lili straddled him without hesitation, knees bracketing his hips. She was still slick from the oil and her own release, the evidence of it warm and wet against the front of his trousers. Her fingers worked the button and zipper with unhurried precision, drawing him free. He was hard, thick, the head already glistening, the vein along the underside standing out sharply against the flushed skin. She wrapped her hand around him once, stroking from base to tip just to feel the heat of him, the way he throbbed against her palm, before she guided him to her entrance.
Lili lowered herself onto him with a slow, deliberate motion, head tipping back as he filled her. A breath caught in her throat as he stretched her open. The fullness was profound, a deep ache that bloomed where his fingers had only teased; she took him gradually, pausing with a shudder when he was halfway seated inside her, her inner muscles fluttering around the intrusion before she sank the rest of the way down until she was fully impaled, the curve of her ass meeting the hard line of his thighs. A ragged sigh escaped her lips. Marco’s hands settled at her waist, his thumbs tracing slow circles into the soft give of her flesh just above her hipbones, holding her steady as she acclimated to the feeling of him buried deep within her.
They moved together without hurry at first — long, rolling waves of her hips, rising almost all the way off him before sliding back down, taking every thick inch again. The headboard tapped the wall with a rhythmic knock that matched the slow rock of their bodies. Oil and her earlier release made the slide of her over him obscenely smooth; each downward motion produced a quiet, wet sound that filled the suite. Marco watched her, the way her breasts shifted with every movement, the flush that spread from her chest up her throat, the soft parting of her lips as she found a rhythm that made her thighs tremble.
When the pace quickened, Lili leaned forward, planting her palms flat against the sweat-slick plane of his chest. Her blonde hair tumbled down around their faces, a sudden private canopy smelling of hotel shampoo and her own salt. The shift in angle was immediate and profound — he was suddenly buried to the hilt, deeper than before. He met her with a hard upward thrust that made the muscles of his abdomen jump and tighten beneath her hands. The soft, rhythmic tap of the headboard against the wall became a solid, insistent thump. Lili’s breath hitched into short, open-mouthed gasps that ghosted across his lips; she closed the distance in a messy, desperate kiss, tongues tangling, before she broke away to press her damp forehead to his as the pleasure coiled tight again.
Marco kept one hand on her waist and slid the other between them, finding her clit with two oil-slick fingers. The dual sensation — his cock filling her completely while his fingers worked tight circles — pulled a sharp moan from Lili. Her hips stuttered, then ground down harder. Marco matched her, thrusting up in her with short, powerful pumps of his cock, that drove the air from her lungs. The wet sounds of their bodies grew louder, more urgent. Her vaginal walls fluttered around him, tightening, and he felt the first warning clench of her orgasm.
Lili came again with a sharp, open-mouthed gasp, the sound torn from her before she could swallow it. Her whole body clamped down around him — thighs seizing, inner walls gripping him in hard, rhythmic pulses — and her nails found his chest and raked. Marco’s hands tightened at her hips, and he kept moving, slow and deep, each measured thrust drawing another shudder out of her, prolonging the thing past the point she thought she could bear it. She folded forward by degrees, the tension leaving her all at once, until her forehead found his collarbone, and she was shaking against him, her breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls against his skin.
He lasted only a few strokes longer. The tight squeeze of Lili's sex mound around him pulled him over the edge. He buried himself fully, hands locking on her hips, and spilled inside her with a low, rough sound against her throat. His shaft throbbed hard, flooding her in thick, hot pulses that seemed to go on and on. Lili felt every one of them, the heat of it, the way it mixed with her own release and leaked out around him when he finally stilled.
They stayed like that until her pulse slowed — his cock softening inside her, her weight still half-draped across his chest, the room humid and close around them. Lili pulled free first, rolling onto her back beside him with a long exhale. The cool sheets against her oil-slick skin raised goosebumps along her arms. She lay there a moment, staring at the ceiling, then turned her head toward the nightstand. The pastry sat where she’d left it, slightly flattened on one side from the napkin. She picked it up and bit into it, flakes of it catching at the corner of her mouth, and closed her eyes.
“Stay,” she murmured. “I’m not done with you yet.”
Marco’s hand slid over the curve of her hip, thumb stroking idly.
“Whatever you need, Miss Reinhart.”
The End