Interior Design 1

The architect adjusted his tie as he climbed the steps to the modern hillside house, his leather portfolio tucked under one arm. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the sleek glass facade, and he rang the doorbell, expecting a standard consultation about the renovation the couple had mentioned. He'd arranged the meeting with the wife over the phone, her voice bright and eager, though she hadn't said much beyond wanting "a fresh perspective" on their home. He assumed her husband would be there too--why wouldn't he be?

The door swung open, and his breath caught. The woman stood there in a silk white nighty, the fabric so sheer it clung to her curves like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders, and her lips curved into a knowing smile as she leaned against the frame. "Come in," she purred, stepping aside with a sway of her hips. "I've been waiting."

He hesitated, his professionalism warring with the sudden heat in his chest. "Uh, thanks," he managed, stepping into the airy living room, all clean lines and minimalist furniture. "I brought some initial sketches--where's your husband? I assumed he'd want to weigh in on the plans."

She waved a hand dismissively, shutting the door behind him. "Oh, he's abroad on business. Won't be back for days. It's just us." Her eyes lingered on him, bold and unapologetic, as she gestured to the couch. "Sit. Let's talk... design."

He sat stiffly, opening his portfolio on the glass coffee table, determined to keep this on track. "Right. So, you mentioned a renovation. What are we looking at--kitchen? Extension?" He flipped to a page of structural notes, his pen poised.

She slid onto the couch beside him, closer than necessary, the hem of her nighty riding up to reveal a smooth expanse of thigh. "Mmm, I was thinking something... expansive," she said, her voice low and suggestive. "You know, opening things up. Making space for... new experiences." Her fingers brushed his arm as she leaned over to peer at his sketches, her breast grazing his shoulder.

He swallowed hard, shifting to put an inch of distance between them. "I can draft some options--maybe a larger living area? We could discuss materials--"

"Materials," she interrupted, her hand sliding to his knee. "I like hard ones. Strong. Something that can really... hold up under pressure." She squeezed lightly, her gaze dropping to his lap before flicking back to his face.

His jaw tightened, a flush creeping up his neck. "Look, I'm here to talk about the project. Let's keep this professional--"

"Oh, I'm very serious," she cut in, swinging one leg over his, straddling his thighs before he could react. The silk rode higher, exposing the fact she wore nothing underneath, and his hands froze mid-air, caught between pushing her off and pulling her closer. "I need someone with vision," she murmured, her lips hovering near his ear. "Someone who can... fill the gaps."

He tried to stand, mumbling something about rescheduling, but she pressed herself against him, her heat seeping through his trousers. "I should go," he said, voice strained, but his hands betrayed him, settling on her hips as she rocked gently, teasing him through the fabric.

"Don't," she whispered, unbuttoning his shirt with deft fingers. "We've got the whole house. No one's coming." She tugged his shirt open, her nails raking down his chest, and his resolve cracked like plaster under a sledgehammer.

He surged up, kissing her hard, all pretense gone. She moaned into his mouth, grinding against him as he shoved the portfolio aside, papers scattering across the floor. They stumbled down the hall, shedding clothes--his jacket, her nighty--until they hit the bedroom, a sprawling space with a king-sized bed and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a private garden.

She pushed him onto the mattress, climbing over him, her skin flushed and eager. "Take me," she demanded, guiding his hands to her breasts as she sank onto him, hot and slick with no barriers between them. He groaned, thrusting up to meet her, the bed creaking under their rhythm. She rode him fiercely, her head tipped back, dark hair swinging, her gasps filling the room as he gripped her hips, driving deeper.

They moved like that, urgent and unrestrained, the house silent around them--no husband, no interruptions. She came first, a sharp cry escaping her as she clenched around him, and he followed, spilling into her with a shuddering grunt. They collapsed together, panting, her body draped over his, the sheets tangled beneath them.

After a while, she rolled off, stretching languidly beside him. "That was... inspiring," she said, tracing a finger along his jaw. "I think we'll need more meetings like this."

He turned his head, catching her gaze. "For the renovation?"

She smirked, propping herself on an elbow. "Exactly. I'll convince him it's worth it--new walls, new floors, whatever it takes. Gives us an excuse to... collaborate often."

He chuckled despite himself, the promise of her words sinking in. "Next time, I'll bring better blueprints."

"Next time," she replied, her voice a sultry promise, "bring yourself. That's enough."