Scorching scissors: my ex-wife's homecoming

Divorce hit like a freight train two years ago. Elena and I had been married for five, built a life in our cozy apartment, shared laughs and fights over everything from career stresses to who forgot to buy milk.

She was the one who filed—said we’d grown apart, that her new job in marketing took her places I couldn’t follow with my graphic design gigs.

I didn’t fight it; heartbreak numbed me instead. We split amicably enough, dividing stuff without lawyers, but seeing her around town stung.

At 32, I’d dated a few women since, nothing stuck. Elena? She jumped into the dating pool fast, posting pics with sharp-dressed execs on social media that I couldn’t stop scrolling through late at night.

Then came the mutual friend’s birthday bash at that rooftop bar downtown. I almost skipped it, but curiosity—or masochism—won. There she was, in a red dress hugging her athletic frame, toned legs from her yoga obsession, C-cup breasts perked up just right.

Her dark hair cascaded loose, laugh carrying over the crowd. Our eyes met across the room; she froze mid-sip, then smiled tentative. I nodded back, heart pounding.

We ended up chatting by the railing, city lights twinkling below, awkward small talk about work and the host’s latest drama.

‘Miss this,’ she admitted after her second gin and tonic, leaning closer, perfume—jasmine, same as always—hitting me. ‘Us, hanging out.’

Her hand brushed mine on the rail, electric. I swallowed, voice low.

‘Me too. More than hanging out.’ Honesty slipped out, fueled by beer. Elena’s gaze darkened, lips parting.

The party noise faded; it was just us, tension thick. ‘My place is close,’ she said, not a question. I followed her down, cab ride silent but charged, thighs brushing.

Inside her apartment—our old place, redecorated with modern art and plants—I barely glanced around before she pushed me against the door, kissing me fierce.

No hesitation, tongues tangling hot, her body pressing full against mine. Hands everywhere; hers yanked my shirt up, palming my breasts through the bra, thumbs circling nipples till they ached hard.

I groaned into her mouth, gripping her ass, firm and round under the dress, pulling her hips to grind against me.

‘Bedroom,’ she gasped, leading me down the hall, stripping as we went. Dress pooled at her feet, revealing black lace bra and thong, skin golden from summer tans.

I shed my clothes quick, bra snapping off to free my D-cups, jeans kicked away with panties. We tumbled onto the bed, her on top, straddling my waist, pussy heat soaking through the thin fabric onto my stomach.

She leaned down, sucking my lower lip, then trailed bites down my neck to latch onto a nipple, teeth grazing sharp while tongue lashed the tip.

I arched, fingers threading her hair, urging her on.

‘Harder—suck it like you mean it.’ She did, drawing deep pulls that shot straight to my core, my pussy clenching empty. Her hand slid between us, cupping my mound, fingers parting folds to rub my clit firm circles.

Wetness coated her digits; she hummed approval, breaking away to kiss me sloppy.

‘So wet for me already. Missed this pussy.’ Two fingers plunged in, thick and sure, pumping slow at first, stretching my walls.

I bucked up, meeting her thrusts, free hand tweaking her other nipple through the lace. ‘Off—get naked.’ She sat back, unhooking the bra, breasts spilling free—pert, dark nipples erect.

Thong next, peeled down to show her shaved pussy, lips puffy and glistening. She ground down on my thigh, smearing slickness, while her fingers curled inside me, hitting that ridge that made stars burst.

‘Fuck, Elena—right there, don’t stop.’ She added a third finger, twisting, thumb pressing my clit relentless.

Orgasm built fast, coiling tight; I came with a shout, walls pulsing around her hand, juices dripping down her wrist. She pulled out slow, licking her fingers clean, eyes locked on mine hungry.

‘Your turn to taste.’ Flipping us, she lay back, knees wide, pulling me down. I dove in, nose buried in her scent—musky, aroused—tongue flat lapping her slit from hole to clit.

She moaned loud, hips lifting to my mouth. I sucked her clit gentle, then firm, teeth nipping light as two fingers slid into her tight heat.

Elena’s pussy gripped me, hot and velvety, walls fluttering as I thrust deep, curling to stroke her front. ‘Yes—finger fuck me harder.’ I did, pounding steady, tongue flicking rapid on her swollen nub.

Her hands clutched my head, grinding frantic, thighs quivering.

‘Gonna come—eat my pussy, make me squirt.’ I hummed vibration against her, adding a third finger, stretching wide. She shattered, back bowing, a flood gushing over my chin and hand, cries echoing off the walls.

We weren’t done; she rolled us to the side, legs entwining, pussies pressing wet together. Scissoring slow at first, clits rubbing sparks with each slide, then faster, hips snapping. Breasts mashed, nipples dragging delicious friction.

‘Feels so good—your cunt on mine,’ she panted, kissing me deep, tasting her own release. I gripped her ass, pulling her harder, our slick folds grinding messy sounds filling the room.

Tension peaked again; we came synced, bodies shuddering, clits throbbing in unison, more wetness mixing between us. Collapsing tangled, breaths ragged, she traced my jaw.

‘Why’d we stop this?’ Guilt flickered—divorce papers, her new life—but desire drowned it. ‘Doesn’t matter now,’ I whispered, nuzzling her neck. ‘Just want you again.’ She smiled soft, hand drifting to cup my breast. ‘Then stay. All night.’

Morning light filtered in; we fucked lazy then, her riding my fingers reverse while I licked her ass, tongue probing the puckered ring as she bounced. She came twice more, once with my whole hand fisting shallow, pussy clenching greedy.

By checkout, doubts crept—texts from her date app buzzing on the nightstand. But as she kissed me goodbye, promising coffee soon, hope sparked. Ex or not, this fire between us burned too hot to ignore. Whatever came next, I’d chase it.