Victoria stood at the front steps of her childhood home, keys in hand, heart thrumming with a strange mix of nostalgia and finality. The house looked smaller than she remembered, as they always do when you’re grown—but the porch still creaked the same, the scent of jasmine still lingered in the breeze from the old backyard bush.

She was thirty-two now, with a life in the city and a career that kept her suitcase half-packed. But this house held years of memories—sleepovers, heartbreaks, piano practice, whispered secrets through bedroom walls. Her parents had retired to the coast, and the house was being put up for sale. Today, she was meeting the realtor to hand over the keys.

When the car pulled into the driveway, she smoothed down her skirt and took a deep breath. Then he stepped out.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Early forties, maybe. Slate grey eyes that flicked up to meet hers with an easy, confident warmth. His handshake was firm, his smile just crooked enough to be disarming.

“You must be Victoria,” he said. “I’m Daniel.”

She nodded. “Thank you for coming out. I figured it’d be easier if I just walked you through it myself.”

“Honestly? I prefer it that way,” he said. “Homes like these have a soul. And it’s always better when someone who lived it is the one telling the story.”

That caught her off guard. She smiled back. “You’re not like most realtors, are you?”

He laughed. “Only on paper.”

The tour began simply—small talk layered with warm undertones. She showed him the kitchen where her mom used to make dumplings, the den where her dad watched documentaries half-asleep, the living room that once held a Christmas tree so big it bent at the ceiling.

But the air between them began to shift somewhere around the upstairs hallway—closer, quieter. Her laugh lingered a little longer when he complimented her storytelling. His glances grew more intent when she caught the light in the hallway window just right. When she pushed open the door to her old bedroom, it felt like stepping back into a version of herself she hadn’t visited in years.

“This was mine,” she said, walking in. “My parents left it pretty much untouched. I guess they were sentimental.”

He followed, looking around at the faint floral wallpaper, the old bookshelf, the wide window that faced the front yard. Then he looked at the bed.

“And that?” he asked, lips quirking. “The original?”

She nodded. “Believe it or not. That’s the same mattress too. Probably twenty years old.”

His gaze settled on her—not just her body, but her, the way she leaned against the edge of her old dresser like she belonged here. Like time hadn’t quite caught her.

“There’s something strange about stepping into someone’s past,” he said, quietly now. “Especially when the present looks like this.”

Victoria’s heart gave a thump. Her breath slowed, deepened. She met his eyes—and held them.

“What does it look like?” she asked, her voice low.

He took a single step closer. Then another. Until they were barely a foot apart.

“Like a memory I want to make real,” he said.

Then he leaned in and kissed her—firm and sure, but slow, like he wanted to taste the moment before devouring it. Her hands found his chest, then slid up around his neck, pulling him closer. She parted her lips to him, letting him in, feeling a rush of heat bloom through her chest and down between her thighs.

He moved her backward, their mouths never separating, until the backs of her knees hit the bed.

“Maybe we shouldn’t…” she whispered, the words trembling at the edge of her lips. Her voice held hesitation, but her body betrayed her—still pressed against him, her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

Daniel paused. Not frozen, not backing away—but grounded, eyes locked on hers.

“Say the word,” he murmured. “And I’ll stop.”

She didn’t say it. Daniel kissed her again and again, kissing the corner of her mouth, then down her jaw. “I’m not stopping unless you tell me to.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. “Don’t.”

Her gaze turned to his lips, then back to his eyes. Her breath hitched as he brushed his thumb along her jaw, a feather-light touch that burned.

“I don’t know what this is,” she said, her voice quieter now, trembling between sense and want.

“Neither do I,” he said. “But I know what I feel right now.”

His hands slip beneath her blouse, grazing the warm skin above her hip. She trembled under his touch.

She continued kissing him—desperately this time, the tension snapping like a string pulled too tight. There was no more hesitation, only need. Clothes fell away in pieces—his shirt tugged over his head, her blouse unbuttoned one slow pop at a time, his fingers sliding under the waistband of her skirt like a secret. She gasped when he touched her, lips brushing her neck, her collarbone, her chest. Every kiss felt like a rediscovery, every touch like he’d already memorized her.

He laid her down on the bed —her bed—and the familiarity of it, mixed with the sheer wrongness of what they were doing there, made it intoxicating. Their bodies falling into each other like they’d done this in another lifetime. The soft creak of the springs beneath them, the smell of old linen and dust and desire—it all blended into a heady blur.

Her skirt was pushed up around her hips, and his hands roamed freely now, pressing into her thighs, her waist, her chest. She arched beneath him, mouth parted, breath catching with every stroke and kiss.

The soft, guilty “maybe we shouldn’t” was long gone now—replaced by quiet gasps, whispered affirmations, and the word yes pressed between kisses like a chant.

Daniel moved over her with a controlled intensity, his hands sliding over her hips, his mouth returning again and again to hers.

He hovered above her, one hand braced beside her shoulder, the other brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

For a beat, they just looked at each other—no words, just the quiet hum of breath and want crackling between them.

Then he kissed her again—harder now, more urgent. His mouth claimed hers, but not carelessly—his lips moved like he needed to know the shape of her kiss. She kissed him back with a hunger that surprised him, tugging him closer, her body arching up to meet his. His weight pressed into hers, warm and solid, grounding.

Her bra peeled away slowly under his hands. He took his time, hands skimming her skin as he inched his way toward cupping her breasts - watching her shiver under his touch.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. Not in a performative way. It sounded more like a confession.

She sat up just enough to let him get closer, his lips meeting the newly exposed skin. His tongue flicked against her nipple, slow and purposeful, and her fingers tightened in his hair as a soft moan escaped her lips. He explored her with his mouth like she was something to savour, alternating between tenderness and deliberate teasing that left her panting.

By the time his hand slid down between them, she was already slick with need—hips shifting instinctively against his palm. He found her through the fabric of her underwear first, rubbing gentle circles that made her whimper. Her thighs parted further, welcoming his touch as she bit her lip and locked eyes with him.

“You’ve thought about this,” she whispered.

He smiled, dark and slow. “Since you opened the door.”

He slid her panties down with careful precision, eyes never leaving hers. And when his fingers finally touched bare skin, she gasped—hips lifting, back arching. He found her rhythm quickly, stroking her with steady, firm pressure until her breath grew ragged and she clenched around nothing, right on the edge.

The room felt heavier now—thick with heat, with memory, with anticipation.

He kissed down her stomach, slow and deliberate, fingers tracing the line of her inner thigh. She shivered at the contrast—his hands warm, his breath cool where it ghosted over her skin.

Then he looked up at her from between her legs, eyes hooded and full of hunger.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said again.

She didn’t. She couldn’t. All she managed was a whisper: “Don’t.”

Daniel’s lips pressed to her inner thigh first—soft, teasing kisses that made her hips twitch. Then he moved closer, spreading her gently with his thumbs. His tongue met her in a slow, exploratory stroke that made her gasp, hips lifting from the bed instinctively.

He hummed softly, pleased by the reaction, and did it again—long, slow licks that built a rhythm, his hands keeping her open for him. She moaned his name, one hand flying to the back of his head, the other gripping the sheets.

He didn’t rush. He mapped her with his mouth, tracing slow circles around her clit, then flattening his tongue against it in deeper pressure. Every flick, every swirl, was intentional. Attuned. Like he was memorizing every twitch of her body, every change in her breath.

“Oh my god…” she gasped, thighs trembling, back arching off the mattress. “Daniel…”

He smiled against her, then gently slid a finger inside her—curling just enough to make her gasp again. Then another, working in tandem with his mouth. His pace built slowly but surely, the tension inside her winding tighter with each second. Her breaths turned to moans, high and broken, as the heat inside her threatened to snap.

She came fast—faster than she expected—her body clenching around his fingers, legs locked tight around his shoulders, the cry of his name torn from her throat like a secret she couldn’t keep.

He didn’t stop until her body finally trembled with oversensitivity, and only then did he pull back—lips glistening, eyes dark with satisfaction.

She lay there, chest rising and falling, skin flushed, completely unraveled.

He moved up beside her, face to face, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“Still think we shouldn’t?” he asked, teasing but gentle.

She gave him a dazed smile, breathless.

“We’re already way past that.”

He moved closer and kissed her again, his fingers wet with her arousal. He spread her legs and positioned himself above her.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmured.

“I do,” she breathed.

Guiding himself between her thighs. He slid into her with a slow, deliberate pressure—inch by inch, stretching her, filling her. They both moaned, the sound raw and unfiltered in the quiet room. For a moment, he paused inside her, just letting her feel—the depth, the heat, the weight of it.

Then he began to move.

It wasn’t frantic. It was intentional. Deep, rolling thrusts that made her clutch at the sheets and cry out softly with each one. He watched her face as he moved, like every flicker of pleasure or tension was something he needed to learn.

She wrapped her legs around him as he entered her slowly—inch by inch—stretching her, filling her, claiming her in a space that had once belonged to a girl, but now cradled a woman.

The bed creaked under their rhythm, the sound almost obscene in the stillness—but it pushed her higher, made her let go. She kissed his neck, dragged her nails down his back, whispered his name over and over like a secret.

“Harder,” she gasped. “Please—don’t stop.”

He didn’t. His hands pinned her hips, his pace quickening, more force behind every thrust now. Their skin slapped together, slick with sweat and desire, and the sound of it only made her wetter, needier. She met him thrust for thrust, her whole body shaking with the force of it.

The mattress gave a soft, familiar groan as Victoria sank into it, her hair fanning out over the same quilted comforter she’d once chosen as a teenager. But the air between her and Daniel was nothing innocent now—it was molten, humming with a heat she hadn’t felt in years. She reached for him as he leaned over her, their mouths meeting again, tongues brushing, breaths heavy and warm.

His hands moved slowly, reverently, skimming down the sides of her body, tracing the outline of her hips before sliding beneath her. She gasped as he found her slick and aching, his hands gliding over her with confidence, no hesitation—only a deep, attentive desire to feel all of her.

“God, you’re wet,” he murmured into her neck, the edge in his voice sending shivers through her.

“That’s what you do to me.”

That made him groan—low, raw. He kissed her cheek, his lips brushing where her shoulder met her neck. She cried out softly, her back lifting from the bed, her thighs tightening around him as he slowly worked in and out of her —inch by inch, letting her feel every stretch, every throb of him sliding deep inside. She clung to him, mouth open, moaning into his shoulder as he filled her completely. For a moment, they didn’t move. They just felt—the tight press of bodies, the wet heat between them, the pulse of something undeniable taking root in the very walls of that old room.

Then he began to move again —long, smooth thrusts that rocks her gently at first, then deeper, harder, as her hips began to meet his rhythm. The sound of skin on skin, of breathless moans and soft cries, filled the room like music only they could hear.

Victoria’s hands roamed his back, digging in when he hit that perfect angle that made her toes curl and her head tilt back in pleasure. “Right there,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he growled, and kept giving it to her—each stroke deeper, more urgent, yet never rushed. He kissed her between thrusts—her mouth, her jaw, her shoulder—like he couldn’t get enough of her. She wrapped her legs tighter around him, letting him sink deeper, her whole body surrendering to the building wave between them.

They moved together in rhythm, slow and aching, like the world outside the room didn’t exist. He whispered her name like a mantra, and she clung to him like she’d never be this unguarded again.

Her climax hit her like a breaking tide—sharp, consuming, breathless. Her cry was muffled against his neck as she clung to him, pulsing around him, dragging him under with her. He groaned her name, hips snapping harder now, chasing his own release.

He cursed under his breath, burying himself deep with a groan as his own climax followed—raw, unfiltered, powerful. He stayed there, trembling slightly, breath caught in her hair, as their bodies pulsed through it together.

He collapsed beside her, their bodies slick, their hearts hammering in sync.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. She turned her head to him, lips swollen, hair wild, eyes still glassy from pleasure. He glanced at her.

“I think your bed still works,” he said, breathless, a half-smile on his lips.

She laughed softly, eyes still hazy with afterglow. “You broke it in all over again.”

Daniel let out a soft, amused laugh and turned to kiss her shoulder. “I don’t think any open house is ever going to top this one.”