Kate's fingers hovered over the keyboard, the cursor blinking like an accusation in the dim glow of her apartment's single lamp. The city hummed outside her window—distant sirens, the rattle of a passing train, neighbors' muffled laughter bleeding through thin walls—but none of it drowned the louder clamor inside her head. *You should have finished that report hours ago. Why can't you just be enough?* Guilt twisted in her stomach, sharp and familiar, as if her mother's disappointed sighs still echoed from childhood. She pressed her palms to her temples, willing the noise to fade, but it only swelled, a storm of shoulds and nevers that left her chest tight and her breath shallow.

The café down the block offered a temporary escape, its warm light spilling onto the sidewalk like a quiet invitation. She pushed through the door, the scent of roasted beans and cinnamon wrapping around her like a tentative embrace, and there he was—Michael, leaning against the counter with an ease that made the air feel lighter. Their eyes met in a moment that stretched, charged with something unspoken, his gaze patient and attentive, not demanding anything she couldn't give. Tension coiled low in her belly, a spark of curiosity amid her guarded walls, as he noticed her hesitation and gestured toward an empty table near the back.

"Here," he said softly, pulling out the wooden chair with a faint scrape against the floor, offering it without expectation or pressure. Kate sank into it, the cool seat grounding her as his presence settled nearby, steady and unhurried. The internal din quieted just enough for her to feel the warmth of his attention, the subtle brush of his sleeve against hers when he sat opposite, igniting a fragile thread of safety that made her pulse quicken with the first hints of release.

The fragile thread of safety wove tighter as Michael leaned closer across the small table, his voice a low murmur that threaded through the café's soft clatter of cups and whispered conversations. "You don't have to explain anything," he said, his eyes holding hers with that patient attentiveness, as if he sensed the storm still lingering behind her guarded gaze. An unexpected twist stirred in her chest when he mentioned, almost offhand, the small apartment above the café that he rented for quiet evenings—his own secret refuge from the city's weight, a place he'd never shared with anyone else. The invitation hung soft and unpressured, and Kate found herself nodding, the tension in her belly unfolding into something warmer, more curious, as they slipped out together into the evening air.

Upstairs, the space unfolded like a hidden sigh: dim lamplight pooling over a worn couch, the faint scent of cedar and rain-washed linen, windows cracked to let in the distant hum of traffic that felt worlds away. Michael created the safety with every gesture—offering her a blanket, asking if this felt right, his hands never advancing without her quiet yes. Their kissing began tentative, then deepened with a shared hunger, lips parting to taste the lingering coffee on each other's tongues, hands roaming as clothes slipped away in a slow cascade of fabric against skin. Kate's breath hitched as his fingers traced the curve of her breast, circling her nipple until it tightened, and she arched into him, the emotional constriction easing with each tender affirmation of her consent. He knelt between her thighs, his mouth finding her pussy with gentle exploration, tongue flicking over her clit in slow, deliberate strokes that built heat without demand, her juices slick against his chin as she moaned freely, the release cresting in waves that left her trembling, her first orgasm blooming without the shadow of performance—just pure, unburdened sensation washing through her core.

Guided by her whispered pleas, Michael rose to shed the last barriers, his cock hard and flushed as he positioned himself above her, pausing to meet her eyes once more. "Tell me what you need," he breathed, and she guided him in, the thick length of him filling her pussy inch by inch in a stretch that mingled fullness with exquisite sensation. Their bodies moved in sync, hips rocking with building rhythm, her legs wrapping around him as he thrust deeper, hands intertwined to anchor the connection. The emotional depth surged alongside the physical—his attentive gaze drinking in every shudder of her pleasure, her guarded walls cracking open further with each shared gasp—until she came again around him, inner walls pulsing, a secret freedom unfolding within her like the imagined door, her cries soft and

Kate and the Door With No Address