Brian Surewood
Manhandled
Brian Sherwood stares at the open door. His suit sticks to his back, salt under the collar. She stands barefoot on the threshold, one hand braced against the frame, the other drifting down to the buttons on a blouse already half undone. The hallway light snakes across her chest, catching the line where skin meets silk. He steps inside. The door clicks shut behind him like the hammer of a revolver. She yanks his tie. He tastes salt, sweat, lipstick, the copper edge of her mouth when she bites his bottom lip hard enough to sting. His fingers find the waistband of her skirt, shove it down past her hips, let it pool at her feet. Nothing underneath. He grips her thigh, high and tight, lifts until her heel knocks the edge of the dresser. "Been waiting long?" she asks, voice low and hoarse. Brian answers by thumbing the wet heat between her legs, sliding two fingers deep. She clamps around him, breath hitched, teeth pressed to his jaw. He works her fast and filthy, knuckles flashing, while her hand rakes open his belt. The leather slaps her skin when it falls. She pulls his cock free, hot and heavy, strokes once, twice, thumb smearing the bead at the tip. He spins her, bends her over the dresser. The mirror rattles. He slams in to the hilt on the first thrust. Her cunt grips like a fist, sucking him deeper with every snap of his hips. She moans without shame, cheek flat against the wood, one arm braced, the other reaching back to claw at his wrist. Outside, thunder rolls. Inside, the only sound is skin on skin, wet and sharp, bodies crashing with nothing gentle left between them. He fucks her like the city could burn down tomorrow and they’d still be grinding against the wreckage, teeth bared, breathing the same ragged air. When she comes, her whole body seizes, legs shaking, nails scoring the varnish. Brian doesn’t stop. He chases it, drives harder, until heat floods through him and he spills with a guttural sound that tastes like surrender and sin in equal measure. After, they stay locked like that, sweat cooling, pulses still hammering. Brian breathes against her spine. She laughs once, short and filthy, and he feels it all the way down.
Brian Sherwood stares at the open door. His suit sticks to his back, salt under the collar. She stands barefoot on the threshold, one hand braced against the frame, the other drifting down to the buttons on a blouse already half undone. The hallway light snakes across her chest, catching the line where skin meets silk. He steps inside. The door clicks shut behind him like the hammer of a revolver. She yanks his tie. He tastes salt, sweat, lipstick, the copper edge of her mouth when she bites his bottom lip hard enough to sting. His fingers find the waistband of her skirt, shove it down past her hips, let it pool at her feet. Nothing underneath. He grips her thigh, high and tight, lifts until her heel knocks the edge of the dresser. "Been waiting long?" she asks, voice low and hoarse. Brian answers by thumbing the wet heat between her legs, sliding two fingers deep. She clamps around him, breath hitched, teeth pressed to his jaw. He works her fast and filthy, knuckles flashing, while her hand rakes open his belt. The leather slaps her skin when it falls. She pulls his cock free, hot and heavy, strokes once, twice, thumb smearing the bead at the tip. He spins her, bends her over the dresser. The mirror rattles. He slams in to the hilt on the first thrust. Her cunt grips like a fist, sucking him deeper with every snap of his hips. She moans without shame, cheek flat against the wood, one arm braced, the other reaching back to claw at his wrist. Outside, thunder rolls. Inside, the only sound is skin on skin, wet and sharp, bodies crashing with nothing gentle left between them. He fucks her like the city could burn down tomorrow and they’d still be grinding against the wreckage, teeth bared, breathing the same ragged air. When she comes, her whole body seizes, legs shaking, nails scoring the varnish. Brian doesn’t stop. He chases it, drives harder, until heat floods through him and he spills with a guttural sound that tastes like surrender and sin in equal measure. After, they stay locked like that, sweat cooling, pulses still hammering. Brian breathes against her spine. She laughs once, short and filthy, and he feels it all the way down.