“You’re late,” she said to my back as I quickly closed the door behind me.

She wore nothing but a pair of really high socks that seemed to go on forever, finally ending around her mid-thigh. They were red and white, alternating in wide bands covering her feet, wrapping tightly around her ankles, and strapping their way up her legs. Her blond hair was pulled into a tight, high ponytail, a few strands escaping only to frame her face. Her arms were folded across her chest and her weight now beginning to shift from one leg to the other. Icy blue eyes held mine in a stare.

“There was a long line at Whole Foo-”

I wouldn’t get to finish that sentence. With her arms no longer crossed in front of her, she pressed her hand flat against her sternum, and slid it, fingers pointing down, between her breasts. Her hand continued to snake down her body, over her flat, tight stomach, past her bare hips and mound, and nestled between her thighs. Her eyes closed gently and she let loose a sigh.

It suddenly felt like it was a hundred degrees. It was a combination of the cold weather outside, the jacket I wore still zippered up to my neck, and the hurried steps I took to reach her place, carrying the three large bags from the grocery store. I was flooded with heat, felt it soaking in from the warm apartment air, and bubbling up from within my jacket and clothes.

Oh, and then there’s Swiss Miss standing in front of me, naked, biting her lip gently as her fingers prodded her pussy.

Beads of sweat formed along my forehead, and yet, I was frozen solid.

Her eyes opened up again, and her icy eyes on me once more, she spoke. “Aren’t you going to put some of that away? I don’t think you want to make dinner… right… now… do… you?” Her words in time with her hand, rubbing up and down the length of her pussy.

I shook my head and my leaden feet brought me step by step into the kitchen. The paper bags were placed on the counter and I began to unload them. The kitchen faced the living room, a bar/counter separating the two living spaces in the studio apartment. Swiss Miss had moved to the couch, lying on her back, her legs bent at the knees and using her feet to lift her hips up as she continued to play with herself.

The package of freshly handmade crab cakes went into the fridge, the tendrils of cold slowly leaking out of the open door, fogging, and curling around my face. It was a brief relief. I reached for the lettuce, and caught a glimpse of her using her other hand, kneading her nipple between her fingertips. The lettuce went into the fridge. I faced the counter to grab the other vegetables, broccoli and baby carrots; Swiss Miss was now biting her lower lip, her hips rocking up and down, fingers disappearing down to the second knuckle. The vegetables went into the fridge. The last item needing refrigeration, the bottle of sparkling apple cider (her favorite) was on the counter – and then I saw her whimpering and moaning softly, her hips falling to the couch cushions.

With the groceries put away (for the most part), I walked around the counter and to the couch, starting to unzip my jacket and kick off my shoes, when she hopped back up to her feet.

I wanted to shed my clothes, to grab her, to place my lips on hers and let them trickle down her neck and body, my hands pouring themselves over her curves. I wanted to lick her skin, to taste her flesh, bite on it gently, and lavish it with my tongue and mouth. My hands wanted to feel her wetness, to feel her smoothness, to grab her curvy hips, to stretch her limbs and trace her outline.I wouldn’t have a chance to do any of that. She stepped in my direction, grabbed my shoulders and pulled me first towards her, and then pushed me towards the window.

“Now, sit,” she ordered, and I found myself sitting on the radiator, the heat quickly soaking through my pants, my ass a million degrees and rising.

“I wore my favorite socks for you,” she said, turning around and giving me a view of her ass as she bent over and held onto the coffee table for support. Forgive me, but the socks weren’t the first thing I was thinking about as she swayed her ass in front of me, her hips making circles and loops in the air.

I finally got my jacket off my shoulders and arms, and I quickly flung it to the side. I was still fully clothed, and sweating profusely now, the collar of my knit half-zip sweater soaked. My undershirt clung to my body beneath the sweater, and my lower body boiling beneath that.

My arms reached out, to touch the dancing curves just out of the reach of my fingertips. She turned around quickly and swatted my hand away. I tried to get up but she came up to me, closer, standing between my legs and kept me planted on the radiator. She held my hand by the wrist, and brought it to her breasts, my fingers pouncing on the opportunity to roll her nipple between the tips. Her eyes closed and she let loose a “mmmnh” – which was very kind of her, but I was wondering when I’d get off this inferno of a radiator.

Her other hand went down the rough knit yarn of my sweater, under the hem, and tore at my pants. I helped her, our hands tearing open the belt, button, and fly. Quickly she reached in and found my cock, warm, large, and stiffening under her touch. She drew it out of my pants, peeking out of the fly of my boxer shorts, and tugged at it. Her hand grasped it at the base tightly and began stroking it, not gently and tenderly, but hard and fast, pumping up and down.

“Don’t move,” she spat out, turning on her feet and her ass back on me. She reached behind and found my cock, holding it steady as she backed herself up and onto me.

I was hot. Sweat poured down my face and neck, I could feel heat everywhere. And still, her pussy lowering on my cock was even hotter.

We both exhaled loudly as she lowered herself completely onto my lap, pinning me to the radiator. I found myself wishing for superhuman strength, to bear the heat, the hellish temperature I was bound to. That thought quickly evaporated as Swiss Miss began to rock herself up and down, bobbing her ass on my cock, her back arched in beautifully sweeping concave curves, with her hands at her head, arms bent at the elbows and out, as if she was dancing away to some invisible music. It was a lot like getting a lap dance. You know, if I could ignore the searing heat for more than a second, burning into my ass.

My hands went for her hips, to hold onto her, to feel her bucking and riding me. But her hands reached back and swatted mine away as she continued to rock her ass up and down on my cock. I was to sit and watch (and sweat) as she fucked my cock, her movements gathering steam and speed, her pussy clenching and tightening, pulsing and gripping me harder.

She spat out a yell, which, in turn, prompted my own low growl – her pussy cumming and squeezing, my cock twitching and firing deep within her.

My head was soaked. My clothes were soaked. I was a sweaty mess, and the unrelenting heat continued to radiate into my body. She still had me pinned to the radiator, my cock still within her, now reaching back with her arm, holding the side of my head as she leaned back, and turned her head to kiss me. She had worked up a sweat, too, our skin slick and cold and hot and warm and wet at the same time. My hands found their way around to the front of her body and cupped her breasts gently, holding her body against mine.

“I’m hungry,” she said, the beads of sweat finally gathering speed and rolling down her neck and back, the sides of her face, her hair now matted, damp, and clinging to her.

“Me too,” I managed to say, my voice weak and thin, coming from my parched throat. There were crabcakes in the fridge, a salad waiting to be made, and some sweet sparkling apple cider to be poured. A pretty good meal, if I say so myself.