Erotic Story: The Valentine Betrayal

Michael had promised Sarah a perfect Valentine’s Day dinner, roses, her favorite wine. But by six, he’d texted a flimsy lie: “Work emergency, babe. Tomorrow?” Sarah’s reply was a sad emoji, and guilt pricked him briefly.

It faded as he sped to Lena’s apartment, his mistress, a woman whose brazen charm had him hooked. Tonight, he’d ghosted Sarah for her, and the thrill of it burned in his veins.

Lena greeted him in a black silk robe, barely knotted, her dark hair a cascade over bare shoulders. “Late again,” she teased, yanking him inside.

The Bedroom Tease Valentine’s

The room hummed with amber and lust, and Michael’s pulse raced. “Happy Valentine’s,” he said, shedding his coat. She smirked, pressing her body to his, lips brushing his jaw. “Let’s make it unforgettable.”

They didn’t linger on words. Her robe fell, revealing lush curves breasts that begged for touch, hips he could sink into. Michael’s hands roamed her instantly, peeling his shirt off as she tugged him to the bedroom. The air was thick, sheets already mussed, a stage for their hunger. Lena shoved him down, straddling him, her thighs pinning his hips. “You’re all mine,” she purred, and Sarah slipped from his mind like smoke.

Her kiss was fierce, tongues tangling as she rocked against him. Michael groaned, gripping her ass, but Lena had plans. She slid back, shedding his jeans, her fingers teasing his length until he throbbed.

Then she paused, eyes glinting. “Not yet,” she whispered, lying back, legs parting in invitation. Michael didn’t hesitate. His hands slid up her thighs, parting her further, and he dipped a finger into her heat slick, welcoming. She gasped, arching, and he added another, curling them slow and deep, watching her unravel.

The Fingering and Licking Moment

Lena’s head tipped back, moans spilling free, Sarah a distant ghost she’d never cared to know. “More,” she demanded, and Michael obeyed, lowering his mouth to her. His tongue flicked over her clit, tasting her, teasing in circles as his fingers pumped.

She writhed, hands fisting his hair, lost in the rising tide. Her first orgasm (use your fingers to achieve orgasm) crashed through her sharp, loud, her thighs clamping his head as she shook. He didn’t stop, licking her through it, savoring her abandon.

She pulled him up, breathless, and flipped him onto his back. “My turn,” she grinned, sinking onto him, taking him fully. Her hips rolled, deliberate and torturous, and Michael’s hands clutched her thighs.

“Tell me how it feels,” she hissed, tightening around him. “Fucking incredible,” he rasped, lost in her rhythm. Her second climax built fast her cry echoed, body shuddering as she rode him harder. Sarah didn’t cross her mind, not once.

Lena flipped onto her back, pulling him atop her. “Keep going,” she urged, legs locking around him. Michael thrust deep, relentless, her nails scoring his back.

Her third orgasm was slower, a delicious build he angled just right, hitting that spot until she arched, swearing, her voice breaking as she clenched around him.

“Don’t stop,” she panted, and he didn’t, driving her to the edge again.

For the fourth, she climbed atop once more, grinding with wild intent. Michael’s fingers dug into her hips, her pleasure pulling him under. She forgot everything his girlfriend, the world lost in the chase.

When it hit, her eyes fluttered shut, a silent scream tearing free as she trembled, and he followed, spilling into her with a groan that shook his core.

They collapsed, sweat-slick and spent, her smirk triumphant. “Worth it?” she murmured, tracing his chest. “Yeah,” he breathed, the night’s wreckage unconsidered. Lena didn’t care about Sarah never had. She’d claimed him, erased his guilt with every pulse of her body.

Meanwhile, Sarah sat alone, red dress hugging her frame, wineglass in hand. His second excuse buzzed through “Still tied up” and her patience snapped. Midnight came, and she typed: “We’re over. Lose my number.” Sent. Blocked. She shed the dress, showered off the hurt, and slept free. He wasn’t worth it.

Morning found Michael tangled in Lena’s sheets, her warmth pressed to him. His phone, buried in his pocket, held Sarah’s farewell unread, irrelevant.

Lena stretched, lips grazing his neck. “Breakfast?” she purred. He nodded, ignoring the faint void. She’d devoured him fingers, tongue, all of her making him forget. Four orgasms, each a nail in his old life’s coffin.

Sarah woke lighter, her apartment quiet. She’d lost Valentine’s but gained herself. Michael have his secrets; she’d take her dignity. At Lena’s, he sipped coffee, basking in the afterglow.

She’d obliterated his past with her touch, but as the high faded, a hollow ache crept in. Lena wasn’t love just a fire that burned bright and brief. Sarah was gone, and the cost was dawning.