I closed the door behind Katya, watching the Russian winter melt off her boots.

"I'll put the kettle on," she said, slipping off her heavy coat and revealing a thin, lavender silk blouse beneath. Her tits were defined against the fabric, the outlines of her areolas inviting me.

As I approached with two cups, I noticed a damp spot darkening the front of her jeans. She stared at the floor, a confession whispering right there.

"This is a nice... place," Katya said.

I moved closer, my cock already bricking under my sweatpants. "Come here."

She complied, but her fingers nervously worked the bottom button of my shirt. I cradled her hips, and I yielded to gravity against the couch. My bulbous rod pressed into the soft mound of her jeans.

A shudder took her, and her glance seemed lost and confessing. "I can't... they know I'm going home after this."

"We live and die with our little secrets," I said, my mouth on her neck. I unbuttoned his jeans, freeing my thick shaft, and untucked the top button of her pants. I knew she had on no underwear, and the damp head of her naked thigh confirmed it.

Katya whimpered. I popped those fly buttons and found her smooth, soaking cunt. She wasn't shy anymore; she spread her thighs. Now, I nudged my pelvis against her, my cock under her t-shirt, the head sliding and finding purchase on her fully spread, juice-dripping pussy. We weren't fucking, but the friction was instantly passionate. Wet smacking filled the room as my shaft slid between her swollen lower lips