Under the Copper Lampshade

The air in the room carried the scent of old wood and faintly burnt coffee. The window was left slightly open, letting in the cool evening air along with the distant rumble of a tram. A single lamp with a copper shade glowed on the table, casting warm patches of light across the walls and the faded rug on the floor.

The young woman stood by the bookshelf, her fingers gliding along the spines. She wore a thin white blouse that clung slightly beneath her arms and a dark skirt reaching her knees. Her hair was loosely tied up, with a few strands escaping and resting against the back of her neck.

The man sat in the armchair opposite her. His gray hair was cut short, catching the light at his temples. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up. He watched her without speaking, his fingers tapping lightly against the armrest.

"Take whichever one you like," he said quietly. His voice was deep, touched with a faint rasp.

She pulled out a slim book with a dark cover and opened it. The pages rustled softly. Turning toward him, she held it open.

"This one?"

He nodded and stood. The floor creaked quietly beneath his steps. He came closer until she could feel the warmth of his body. Taking the book from her hands, his fingers brushed hers for a brief moment. His skin felt drier, warmer.

He placed the book back on the shelf. His hand remained on her arm, just above the elbow. His thumb slowly traced the inside of it. The fabric of her blouse shifted slightly beneath the movement.

"Sit down," he said, gesturing toward the sofa.

She obeyed. As she sat, her skirt rode a little higher. He settled beside her, not too close, yet near enough that she could feel his breath. A glass pitcher of water stood on the table. He poured her a drink. Ice cubes clinked softly.

She drank slowly. A drop slipped from her lower lip. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. He followed the movement with his eyes. Then he reached out and brushed away another drop that still lingered on her chin. The touch was light, but it lasted longer than necessary.

His hand slid lower, along her neck to the collar of her blouse. He undid the first button. The fabric parted slightly. Then the second. Her collarbones and the beginning of her chest became visible. His fingers paused at the third.

"Do you want me to continue?" he asked.

She answered only with a slight nod. The third button came undone. Her blouse opened down to her waist. Beneath it she wore a delicate lace bra. Her breathing quickened, though she said nothing. He rested his palm against her ribs beneath her breast, his hand moving slowly upward until it reached the edge of the lace.

He moved closer. His knee touched hers. Slipping his hand beneath the fabric of her bra, his fingers found her already hardened nipple. He traced it lightly with a fingernail. She arched back against the sofa, a quiet breath escaping her lips.

He leaned in and pressed his lips beneath her ear. She felt the light scrape of his stubble against her skin. His tongue moved across her neck. At the same time, his other hand lowered the lace. One breast was freed. He cupped it in his hand, squeezing gently as his thumb circled around her nipple.

Her skirt rode higher as she shifted. He noticed. His hand moved to her thigh beneath the fabric. Her skin was smooth and warm. His fingers traveled upward until they reached the edge of her underwear. There he stopped and waited.

She parted her knees a little farther.

He slipped beneath the elastic edge. His fingers found damp warmth. He stroked her slowly from top to bottom and back again. When he reached the most sensitive place, her hips lifted slightly. A quiet sound escaped her lips, somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

He continued. His fingers moved in slow circles and gentle strokes. His other hand still held her breast, squeezing her nipple a little more firmly. His breathing grew heavier, though he remained silent. Only her body answered, her hips pressing against his hand, her thighs tightening.

After a while he withdrew his fingers. They glistened in the lamplight. He wiped them against the inside of her thigh before standing in front of her. He unfastened his belt. The metal buckle clicked. His zipper slid down. His trousers dropped to his ankles. Beneath them, his dark briefs strained noticeably at the front.

He pulled them down. His erection sprang free, thick, with veins visible beneath the skin. Taking her wrist, he guided her hand toward him and placed her palm around him. She closed her fingers around him. His skin was taut and hot. She moved her hand slowly up and down. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again to look at her.

He knelt between her legs. Lifting her skirt completely to her waist, he pulled her underwear down over her thighs and ankles before tossing it aside. Gently parting her knees, he saw the moisture glistening between them. Leaning forward, he ran his tongue over her slowly from bottom to top before focusing on her most sensitive spot, circling and pressing with deliberate care.

Her fingers buried themselves in his hair. Her hips lifted toward his mouth. Short, broken sounds escaped her throat. Without stopping, he slipped two fingers inside her, moving them in rhythm with his tongue.

When he felt her body beginning to tighten, he stopped. Rising to his feet, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He took her by the hips and drew her toward the edge of the sofa. His erection rested against her entrance. He paused, looking into her eyes.

She shifted forward slightly.

He pressed gently. The head slipped inside. Then, slowly, inch by inch, he entered her completely. Once fully inside, he remained still for a moment, feeling her tighten around him. Then he began to move. Slow, deep strokes. Each withdrawal and return was accompanied by the soft, wet sound of their bodies.

His hands rested on her hips, his fingers pressing into her skin. Gradually he increased the pace. The sofa creaked quietly beneath them. His breathing mixed with her moans. Sweat glistened across his forehead. One hand reached up to cup her breast again, gently squeezing her nipple.

She arched her back. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she pulled him closer. He thrust harder. Each movement echoed softly through the room. The space filled with the sounds of breathing, shifting bodies, and muffled cries.

Then he stopped abruptly and withdrew. His erection gleamed in the warm light. Kneeling once more, he climbed onto the sofa beside her. Taking her by the hair, he turned her face toward him and kissed her firmly, his tongue meeting hers while guiding her hand back to him.

She stroked him. At the same time, he slipped his fingers between her legs again, moving them more quickly as her hand continued its steady rhythm. His breathing became uneven. She felt another wave building within her. Her legs trembled.

Suddenly he turned her onto her side. Pressing himself against her from behind, he lifted one of her thighs and entered her again, this time more deeply and with greater force. His movements became quicker, shorter. His free hand reached between her legs, circling her most sensitive place.

The sounds blended together: skin against skin, quiet wetness, her moans, his rough breathing. The lamp on the table trembled slightly with every movement. Another cool draft drifted in through the open window, meeting the heat of their bodies.

He slowed. Withdrawing almost completely, he pushed forward again until he was fully inside. Remaining there, his fingers continued their steady motion. She trembled. Her legs stretched out, her hands gripping the cushion tightly.

He leaned close to her ear. His breath brushed through her hair. His fingers quickened while his hips resumed their slow, deep, deliberate rhythm.