Kamila faces the sun from the overlook, her eyes narrowing to a squint as she takes in the valley below. She likes to stand here for a moment, catching her breath, admiring how far she’s come—not just on this run, but in life sometimes. This is my little spot for my little moment of zen, she thinks, remembering a quote she scribbled inside her planner.

When she’s disciplined, when she’s that version of herself—the good girl, the maintained one—she makes it up here daily. More often, though, three times a week is her reality. And that’s okay. It has to be, she often tells herself.

She’s run this route dozens of times, maybe more—a well-worn escape from the gym’s fluorescent hum and the quiet discipline of the library. Sometimes it’s nice just to be outside, she likes to remind Joey, her fiancé, when he asks why she wasn’t going with him to the gym. 

She thinks of him now as she stretches, one foot braced against the weathered white wall at the top. From here, the whole valley spreads out before her, rooftops and winding streets softened by the golden haze of late afternoon. The old overpass has always been a high point—for runners catching their breath and lovers stealing a moment in the dark.

She remembers when Joey brought her here in his car after dinner on one of their first dates. She loved the way he talked about the town and teaching with such passion as they ate ice cream. 

She loves this hill, and she loves that she first climbed it with him.

She brings her leg down and gives her laces one last tug before starting her descent. The hill has a solid grade, steep enough that she can really pick up speed—a thrill she’s earned after six months of steady training. She pops her headphones back in, the beat syncing with her breath, and takes off, her stride smooth, strong, effortless.

The sweatband keeps stray strands of dark hair from her face as she runs, framing features striking and familiar—like a movie star you swear you’ve seen before. She’s stunning, yes, but there’s something more, something in the way she smiles and adjusts her ponytail. You can almost catch it. Effortless but deliberate, refined yet down-to-earth.

She moves with the confidence of being watched. Her workout gear hugs curves that demand attention. Beneath her snug sports bra, the soft swell of her curves rises and falls—a quiet, undeniable allure she never has to try for.

Halfway down the hill, as she rounds the wide bend, an old Chevy truck rumbles toward her and then slowly past. A sharp honk cuts through her music—not the impatient kind, but the kind that comes with grins from teenage boys leaning too far out the windows. She catches the look they give her, the unspoken Damn, and lets herself enjoy it for what it is. She’s not running for them, but still… it feels good.

Running into the driveway, she slows to a walk for a short cooldown through the garage, then quickly moves through her stretch and recovery routine in the den. Finishing, she stands up straight, reaches for the ceiling in one last stretch, then pulls off her sports bra as she heads into the bedroom.

Clothes from the morning are strewn across the floor—she and Joey can be little tornadoes when they’re hunting for the perfect outfit. Walking to the nightstand, she puts her watch on the charger, getting ready to take a shower.

 A quick check of Instagram shows a weightlifter from New Mexico liked her selfie from earlier, and a little spark of satisfaction flutters inside her. Not that she doesn’t love Joey—it’s just… he was so hot, as she told her friend when he first followed her.

She wonders where Joey is at that moment.

“Joey?” she calls out gingerly. “Are you home?”

She hears rustling in the office.

“Hi, sweetie. How was your run?” Joey’s voice comes muffled from behind a wall.

A moment later, he floats into the bedroom like a warm breeze, shirtless, smiling at her from the doorway. She smiles back, happy to see him, and moves in for a hug. As he pulls her close, she feels the outline of an erection pressing through his thin shorts.

“Someone’s been masturbating, I see,” she teases with a sly smile and a flick of the wrist.

“Maybe. Poquito.”

“A little, huh?” she said. A spark of electricity shoots straight to her pussy. Something about hard dicks… she just can’t get enough. She should shower, but she’s already a Slip-and-Slide down there, and he’s already hard, so really, it just makes sense.

They don’t think about it—they just grab at each other, falling onto the bed. Sliding her hand down his pants, she wraps her fingers around his cock and starts stroking. It’s so hard—unbending.

Even at thirty-six, Joey still carries a youthful energy. His bright blue eyes, sharp yet warm, reflect intelligence and kindness—eyes that pay attention. A neatly trimmed beard frames his strong jaw, and his hair, always well-groomed, gives him a polished ease. He stays active—basketball on weekends, hikes when he can, steady workouts—not to impress, but to feel good. Looking good is just a bonus.

In bed, when every muscle in his body is working, Kamila sees a side of Joey she loves and even craves. He’s such a good boy in bed—always giving his best, using every inch of himself the way he knows she likes. No one has ever made her feel like this before Joey, and in those moments, she wants to hold onto him forever. They make for an undeniably attractive couple, especially in bed.

But right now, Joey’s attention is fully on Kamila—on the way her incredible breasts look and feel in his hands when he's on top. He watches her face, sees deepening pleasure as her eyes roll all the way back, like it’s almost too much. But he knows she wants more.

Gripping her neck, he tightens his hold just enough, his voice low and firm. “I decide when you breathe. Understand?”

She nods, eyes fluttering closed as her face deepens from red to a shade of purple. Just before she’s about to pass out, he releases her, and she gasps, breaking the surface like a drowning survivor. Her body shudders, legs trembling as she gushes around him, adding to the slick sheen already glistening on his skin. His dick is absolutely drenched, and the smile on his face tells her she has him.

He pulls out and tells her to ride him. They flip, and she shifts into her fast-thrusting cowgirl, sliding her body over his, taking his cock with the kind of rhythm only Latin hips can deliver. Joey had been with two other Hispanic women before, and they all had that same instinctive intensity—like they were made to pull the orgasm from him, making resistance impossible.

Kamila takes making him cum as a challenge - one she’s highly committed to winning.

She leans in, riding him harder, determined to pull every last drop from him

She moves faster, grinding down with her full weight to deepen penetration, her body working him with perfect tenacity. Joey spreads his legs open wider beneath her as she rides him, relentless, knowing exactly how to push him to the edge. When he opens his legs, she can feel it—his cock throbbing, his balls tightening, his entire body tensing, teetering on the brink of orgasm beneath her.

No matter how hard he is, Joey always gets harder right before he comes, and she lives for that moment. She shifts slightly, angling her hips just right, then slams down harder, faster, hitting the perfect spot.

Joey groans, his hands gripping her waist, barely holding on.

“Oh, fuck—”

She smirks, breathless, feeling his control slip. Got him.

“I want your cum, baby,” she gasps, still riding him, her own body trembling. “Give it to me—I want all of it.”

He couldn’t help it. He holds her down—pounding dick to cervix—as he squirts into her, burying himself as deep as possible. Orgasm surges through him, his pelvic muscles tightening as he squirts deep inside her, cock pulsing as she milks every last drop from him with her tight pussy lips.

Entwined in each other’s arms, their bodies slick with sweat, Kamila grins, satisfied in a way that goes beyond just sex.

“You always fuck me so good,” she says, playful and singsong, looking into his eyes with an unmistakeable look of awe and love.

“It’s all you,” Joey murmurs with a little chuckle, still breathless, his chest rising and falling as he laughs softly. He smiles, lazy and content, pulling her against him.

Kamila lifts her leg, and Joey playfully rolls out from under her, snuggling up to her side.

A quiet moment passes, the room still thick with heat and the scent of sex. Then, Joey shifts slightly, his voice dropping to something almost hesitant.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, barely more than a whisper.

Kamila hums in response, running a lazy hand over his chest, tracing the faint lines of muscle.

Joey exhales, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Sometimes, and it’s pretty rare, I get turned on when I see certain really good-looking guys.”

Kamila stills.

Not in fear. Not in jealousy. Just surprise and curiosity.

She tilts her head, studying him, waiting. Joey has always been a passionate man, confident in what he wants—but right now, he looks… unsure. Vulnerable.

“What do you mean?” she asks carefully.

Joey lets out a short laugh, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “It’s just… sometimes I see these guys, and I get this urge to see them naked. Better yet, fucking… you.”

A slow heat rolls through Kamila’s stomach—not from arousal, not yet, but from the sheer weight of the confession. She watches him, her fingers still resting lightly against his skin.

Joey doesn’t say things lightly. If he’s telling her this, it means he’s been thinking about it for a while.

Joey says, “I understand if that freaks you out.” 

She could say nothing. She could brush it off. But that’s not who she is. Instead, she shifts closer, lips barely brushing his ear.

“What would you do,” she murmurs, “if we did this?”

Joey inhales sharply. She feels his body react before he even speaks.

“Fuck,” he breathes, dragging his hand through his hair. “I don’t know.” He hesitates, then turns to look at her, his expression unreadable. “I think I’d lose my mind.”

Kamila smirks, tilting her head. “And what if he touched me?”

Joey swallows, his throat working, his cock already starting to stiffen against her thigh.

“I’d have to see it first,” he says, voice thick. “See what it does to me.”

A slow smile spreads across her lips.