It was so hot on the train the bare skin of their arms stuck together as they rocked on their seats. The air hot and heavy, stale in the carriage where they sat, the sweat sliding down their bodies like silver. He could smell her musk, which is exactly as he liked it, having made sure she came for him before they left the house. He loved how she came, the panting whimpers she made, the gush of the hot liquid into his mouth, the heavy clenching spasms of her cunt climaxing, the way she gripped something - anything - as she arched and quivered and gasped. The synthetic fabric of the short black dress he'd asked her to wear always seemed to magnify her smells and he could feel himself getting hard as he sat there and breathed her in.nnShe just kept surprising him. From the fateful first inane conversation in a chat room she had intrigued him, captured him. She intoxicated him and he knew he was totally addicted to her. As was she to him. They talked about everything, things they didn't even admit to themselves. Those first months on VoIP were the most intense he'd ever known with another person. He marvelled at her trust in him, so unexpected, but then, everything she did was unexpected.nnAnd now here they were, a mere month after the first meeting. My god, he thought languidly, that first fuck was life-altering. The trust they'd built up, the trust she laid in him, it was all there. He'd managed to control himself until they got to the hotel. But it was in the elevator on the way up to their room that she took control of him. He knew she'd planned it that way, had manipulated him into taking her, but then again, the unexpectedness of her approach, the simple way she had done it, she surprised him. In the elevator, she just stood in front of him as they got in, her back to his chest, and she let her body almost touch his. Those ripe globes of her arse had just brushed his belt and that had been his undoing.