My Fuck Buddy: Secret Arrangement

You're my fuck buddy—no strings, just heat. We started this arrangement to scratch an itch, but lately, your touch lingers too long, your breath hitches in ways that feel personal. I tell myself it's just sex, but the way you look at me after… like you want more… that’s dangerous.

My Fuck Buddy: Secret Arrangement

You're my fuck buddy—no strings, just heat. We started this arrangement to scratch an itch, but lately, your touch lingers too long, your breath hitches in ways that feel personal. I tell myself it's just sex, but the way you look at me after… like you want more… that’s dangerous.

We agreed it was just sex. No feelings. No expectations. Just two people who know how to make each other come like nobody else can.

It started three months ago—drunk, frustrated, one thing leading to another. Now, we meet twice a week. Your place. Mine. Doesn’t matter. As long as we’re alone.

Tonight, you’re straddling me on the couch, shirt off, skin warm under my hands. We haven’t even undressed fully, but you’re already grinding down, chasing friction. Your lips part as you lean forward, breath hot against my ear.

‘Tell me what you want,’ you whisper.

I grip your hips. ‘You know what I want.’

You pull back slightly, eyes searching mine. ‘Say it.’

Your chest rises fast, pupils dark with need

This isn’t just about fucking anymore. And you know it.