Her Summer Secret

# Her Summer Secret

## An Erotic Short Story by RareAsianPrincess

### 1. The First Night

She wasn't supposed to want him--but she did. Not always, not in some long, drawn-out fantasy that had built since childhood. No, this was different. Their relationship had always been playful--witty remarks and sarcastic comments exchanged whenever their families got together. But that summer, something changed. Something flipped like a switch, turning their teasing banter into something electric.

Kate caught him looking at her differently that afternoon. His eyes lingered on her curves as she emerged from the pool, water dripping down her freckled skin. When he teased her later, telling her "you know where I sleep," it wasn't just a joke. It was an invitation. One she couldn't stop thinking about once the lights went out.

At 2 a.m., her heart pounding against her ribs, she crept across the hallway. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath her feet. Each step felt dangerous, forbidden. His door was slightly ajar--like he'd been expecting her. Waiting.

No words. Just heat.

She kissed him first, claiming what she'd suddenly realized she'd been wanting. His athletic body was warm beneath her fingertips as she pulled his shirt over his head. When she shed her own, his breath caught at the sight of her heavy breasts with their spray of freckles. His hands cupped them like he'd been thinking about this moment for hours.

"Fuck," he whispered, and it was the only word spoken.

She stroked him through his shorts, emboldened by how hard he already was. When she pushed his boxers down, she had to stifle a gasp. He was bigger than she'd imagined--thick and perfectly shaped. Something primal stirred inside her.

But it was when his mouth found her thighs that she nearly lost control. She buried her face into a pillow--half to muffle her cries, half to keep from waking the entire house. Her best friend was just feet away. His parents down the hall. Every lick against her clean-shaven folds was a delicious risk. Every moan a dangerous gamble.

When he finally slid into her, slow and deep, she melted around him--biting back the scream she wanted to let out. The stretch of him inside her felt impossibly good. Her body shook as she came with the pillow pressed to her lips, and when he asked where he could finish, she pulled the pillow away and whispered exactly what she wanted.

His release splashed warm across her chest, marking her. Claiming her.

Afterward, she slipped away without a word--back into her best friend's room like a ghost. But she didn't sleep. She couldn't. The memory of him inside her was still too fresh, too intense. She was already thinking about the next time she'd sneak into his bed.

### 2. The Nights That Followed

It didn't stop after that first night. In fact, something about the silence of it--no words, no plan, just that shared fire they finally gave in to--made it even harder to resist the next time. And the next.

She kept slipping in, always slow, always quiet. That's what raised the tension. The creak of the floorboards. The soft close of the door. It was their ritual. One she couldn't stop craving.

He was always ready for her--laid back in bed, boxer briefs stretched tight over the kind of cock that had lived in her fantasies since that first night. Thick, hard, and perfectly shaped to stretch her open.

Each time she entered, there was less hesitation. Their mouths found each other faster. Her shirt came off sooner. She no longer had to ask--his hands went straight to her tits, his lips following like they belonged there.

She learned to grind slow against him before he ever got inside her. Learned how to stroke him just right while looking up at him with wide eyes and bitten lips. But most of all, she learned that he liked control.

And she liked giving it to him.

She would start on top, straddling him, riding slowly while their mouths stayed locked. But he never let her have the lead for long.

He'd sit up, wrap his arms around her waist, and take over the rhythm. Then--always without pulling out--he'd flip her onto her back, pressing her into the mattress in one fluid motion.

No words. Just a deep inhale from her, laced with a moan and parted lips.

That became the signal. The moment she knew she'd handed her body over again--willingly.

One night, they almost got caught. A door opened down the hall. They froze, still joined, his hand clamped over her mouth. For thirty agonizing seconds, they didn't breathe. When the footsteps retreated, she could feel him throbbing inside her, harder than ever. The danger made it better.

That night, after he came on her chest, she touched his release with her fingertips, rubbing it into her skin like a secret mark only she would know was there.

### 3. The Day She Could Finally Be Loud

It was different that day. There was no sneaking. No fear of waking anyone. No pillow to muffle her cries.

Just sunlight pouring through the blinds, an empty house, and the kind of hunger that had been building with every whispered orgasm she'd had to hold back in the dark.

She knew what she was doing the second she chose what to wear. White tank top, no bra. Tiny gym shorts. Barefoot. Her freckles glowing in the light. That little tattoo on her hip barely peeking out above the waistband.

When he opened the door and saw her, there was no hesitation--only heat. They didn't speak. They didn't need to.

Everything about this encounter had purpose, unlike the spontaneous nature of their first time. She wanted him to see her. To hear her. To feel how much her body responded to his control.

She started riding him on the couch, slow at first--grinding down, watching his eyes darken as he stretched her open. The first moan escaped her lips before she could stop it, and this time, she didn't have to.

She could be as loud as she wanted.

And she was.

He sat up, wrapped his arms around her waist, and bounced her on him harder. Her breasts swayed between them, and he didn't stop touching them, licking them, claiming them like he hadn't had enough in all the nights before.

Then, in one seamless move, he flipped her onto her back--never pulling out--and started thrusting harder. Deeper. Her legs wrapped tight around him. Her voice broke with every stroke.

"Fuck, don't stop--don't stop--don't stop."

Then he pulled out just long enough to whisper, "Turn over."

She obeyed instantly, dropping to her elbows, arching her back. He slid in from behind, and she nearly collapsed from the stretch. But he wasn't done.

He leaned his weight into her, flattening her into the cushions, fucking her slow and deep in prone--every inch of him buried, her moans turning into gasps, eyebrows raised, mouth open in perfect surrender.

And finally, he rolled onto his side, her back against his chest, and finished in spooning. Still inside her. Still in control.

When he came on her chest again, she felt marked in a way that satisfied something primal inside her. This secret was theirs alone.

### 4. Between Her Thighs

There was something about his mouth that made her weak.

The first time he went down on her, she had no idea how much control she was about to lose. She thought she'd be able to stay quiet--ride it out with quiet gasps, like the nights before.

But then his tongue found her--slow, deliberate, perfectly greedy.

He spread her gently, revealing the soft pink folds nestled between her fair skin. She was clean-shaven, her lips tight and swollen, slick with arousal.

And he tasted everything.

She felt it in her thighs first--the way they tensed, wrapped around his head. Her hips bucked against him, but he just pinned her down harder. His hands gripped her ass, pulling her in deeper, his tongue working in steady, devastating circles.

Her fingers clawed at the sheets. Her eyes rolled back.

She tried to hold on, but her body gave her away. As the pressure built, her thighs tightened around his face. Her hands gripped the sheets harder. Her head fell back as she got closer.

He looked up at her from between her legs, just in time to see her lose it--head thrown back, mouth open, thighs trembling. She came with a cry, louder than she meant to, but neither of them cared.

When she opened her eyes again, he was sitting up, smirking. Her wetness still glistening on his mouth like it belonged there. The quiet confidence in his eyes told her he knew exactly what he'd done to her.

"Oh my god," was all she could say, the words barely a breath.

His smirk deepened. In that moment, she knew he could have asked anything of her, and she would have given it.

### 5. Unspoken Afterglow

Kate doesn't remember which time was the last. Not exactly. There wasn't a big moment. No drawn-out goodbye. Just one more day where the house was empty, or the door was unlocked, or they gave in to that same old pull.

And then... nothing.

Time passed. Life moved on. She got married. Had kids. He did too, maybe. Or maybe he just disappeared into adulthood like everyone eventually does.

But they still see each other--holidays, birthdays, family barbecues. Their parents are close. Their lives, still orbiting.

And every time she sees him across a room, it's there.

That flicker. That heat. That shared secret.

He glances at her when no one is watching, and all it takes is one look--one slight smirk, one raised eyebrow--for her to feel it again.

The weight of his body on hers. The stretch of him inside her. The taste of his skin on her tongue. The sound she made when she came and forgot to care who might hear.

Ten years later, and no one else knows.

But he does. And so does she.

Sometimes, when her husband is inside her, she closes her eyes and remembers the way he flipped her over without ever pulling out. The way his mouth found the sensitive spot between her thighs. The way his hands never stopped exploring her curves, her freckles, the small tattoo on her hip.

Some secrets you don't need to tell. Some are just for you to keep.

And every time their families get together and they exchange those knowing glances, she feels it again--that perfect summer heat. That moment when something inside her flipped like a switch, turning their innocent teasing into something else entirely.

Something that still burns, even now.