Stan merged onto the expressway and let the engine open up.

Four Seasons Garden was twenty minutes away. The sun was sitting low on the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of amber and rose. The wet road hissed softly under the tires.

It had been a long day. His class. The rain. Vivian Reeves and her three-million-dollar attitude problem. The car.

The thought of Sophie’s apartment, the balcony, the fried chicken, the fun and quiet, pulled at him with a warmth that had nothing to do with the system and everything to do with the simple, human pleasure of ending a difficult day in comfortable company.

He took the exit for Four Seasons Garden, rolled through the gate with a nod to the security guard who recognized his car, the security guard was looking at it like a car fanatic...

Stan shook his head with a smile and parked the Huracán in the visitors’ bay with a satisfying chirp of the tires.

The elevator carried him up in silence. The hallway was empty. The door to Sophie’s apartment was slightly ajar, she’d left it open for him.

The smell hit him before he crossed the threshold.

Fried chicken. Garlic. Something warm and slightly sweet, honey mustard, if he had to guess. And beneath it, the faint, clean scent of the candles she’d told him about in the taxi.

Sophie appeared from the kitchen doorway, wearing an oversized knit sweater that fell past her hips and a pair of simple cotton shorts. Her boobs were still straining against the sweater even though it was oversized... Her curves and her nice laps were in full display. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. She looked so sexy.

She was holding a wooden spatula in one hand and a dish towel in the other, and her face was flushed from the heat of the stove.

’She looked,’ Stan thought involuntarily, ’better than she had in the three-million-dollar necklace.’

"You’re here." She smiled, that warm, unguarded smile that kept finding ways past his defenses no matter how carefully he maintained them.

"I’m here."

"Dinner’s almost ready. Fifteen minutes." She tilted her head, studying him. "You look tired."

"Long day."

"Then sit down. Relax. The balcony’s set up."

She disappeared back into the kitchen, and a moment later, Stan heard the sizzle of chicken hitting hot oil and the soft clink of plates being arranged.

He walked through the living room, past the candles, past the slate-gray placemats, past the carefully curated playlist drifting quietly from a speaker in the corner, and stepped out onto the balcony.

The view stopped him.

Sophie had been right. The western exposure caught the sunset head-on, and tonight, after the storm, the sky had put on a show. The clouds were stacked in layers of gold and violet and deep, burning orange, and the city below was just beginning to light up, scattered points of warmth against the darkening blue.

It was the kind of view that made you want to stand there and not talk for a while.

So Stan did exactly that. He leaned against the railing, let the cool evening air move across his face, and watched the sun sink into the horizon while the smell of fried chicken drifted through the open door behind him.

’Not a bad way to end the day,’ he thought.

’Not bad at all.’

Soon Sophie served him food and he took his time eating.

Stan set down the last piece of chicken with a satisfied sigh. Even though he’d had Sophie’s fried chicken yesterday, the flavors still hit perfectly, crispy, juicy, perfectly seasoned.

He barely had time to lean back before Sophie was already clearing the plates with a knowing little smile.

"Come on," she said, slipping her arm through his and tugging him gently but insistently. "Let’s go have some fun, Stan. The night is still young, and there’s something I really want to try..."

Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she led him back inside, straight to the bedroom.

The moment they crossed the threshold she closed the door behind them with a soft click, then gave him a sexy little push.

Stan let himself fall back onto the bed, landing squarely on his back with a low chuckle, already anticipating whatever she had planned.

Sophie knelt gracefully at the edge of the bed between his spread legs. Her fingers worked quickly, unbuckling his belt and tugging his trousers down. When his half-hard cock sprang free, her eyes darkened with hunger.

Stan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ’Blowjob? She wants to give me a Blow job’

Sophie caught his expression and winked at him, slow and sultry. "What do you think?"

"I think that’s a very good plan..." he murmured, voice already rough.

He tilted his head back toward the ceiling, waiting.

But then warm, impossibly soft flesh enveloped him.

Two heavy, silky breasts pressed around his cock from both sides, squeezing him between their plush warmth. The sudden velvety heat and pillowy pressure made his breath catch, it felt like sinking into two warm, perfectly yielding cushions that hugged every inch of his shaft with soft, heavy fullness.

Stan’s head snapped back down with a deep groan. "Fuck, Sophie..."

Her cream blouse was already open, bra shifted out of the way. Those perfect milky tits were out, nipples stiff, as she cradled his thickening length between them. She smiled up at him innocently, as if she hadn’t just surprised him completely.

"You expected a blowjob, right?" she purred, slowly sliding her breasts up and down his shaft, the soft, heavy globes squishing deliciously around him.

The smooth, warm friction sent waves of pleasure through his cock, each glide creating that addictive blend of softness and gentle squeezing pressure.

"I love boobjobs too..."

"I know you do," she whispered, eyes gleaming. "Don’t worry, my love, I’ll give you everything you want tonight."

She lowered her head and dragged her warm, wet tongue slowly across the swollen tip, tasting the bead of precum that had already formed.

The hot, slippery lick sent electric tingles racing up his spine. Stan shivered hard, hips twitching.

Then Sophie wrapped her soft lips around the head and sucked, gentle at first, then harder, like she was savoring a sweet lollipop.

The intense wet heat and suction around his sensitive glans felt mind-blowingly good, her tongue swirling underneath and sending sparks of pleasure straight to his core.

Wet, obscene slurping sounds filled the room as she bobbed her head, sucking intently on the sensitive cap while her hands stroked the rest of his shaft, now slick with her saliva.