She called herself Rose Red Tyrell. Scarlet hair twisted up against her skull, pale skin that flushed when you grabbed it too hard. She sat on the edge of the bed with her legs apart, watching me strip like she'd already seen the ending. The room reeked of sweat and the cheap whiskey she'd been drinking from the bottle on the nightstand.
She reached behind, unzipped her dress. It fell open and she wasn't wearing anything underneath. Her nipples stood out dark against all that white skin. She cupped her tits, squeezed them together, ran her thumbs across the stiff peaks until her breath caught. Then she slipped two fingers between her legs and spread herself open so I could see how wet she already was.
"Lock the door," she said. Voice low, rough around the edges. I turned the deadbolt and when I faced her again she had her fingers in her mouth, sucking them clean. She smiled like she knew every filthy thing I wanted to do to her and planned to let me do them twice.
She crawled backward on the bed, knees wide, cunt glistening. I climbed on top, pinned her wrists above her head with one hand. She didn't fight it. Her hips rolled up against my cock, slick and hot, begging without a word. I slid inside in one hard thrust and she gasped, teeth sinking into my shoulder.
We fucked like people who knew better. Rough. Dirty. She came first, legs shaking, nails raking down my back hard enough to draw blood. I followed right after, buried deep, emptying myself while she whispered filthy shit in my ear that made my cock twitch even as it softened inside her.
She lit a cigarette after, naked on the rumpled sheets, smoke curling toward the ceiling. Didn't ask me to stay. Didn't ask me to leave. Just watched me get dressed with that same half-smile, like she was already thinking about next time.
She called herself Rose Red Tyrell. Scarlet hair twisted up against her skull, pale skin that flushed when you grabbed it too hard. She sat on the edge of the bed with her legs apart, watching me strip like she'd already seen the ending. The room reeked of sweat and the cheap whiskey she'd been drinking from the bottle on the nightstand.
She reached behind, unzipped her dress. It fell open and she wasn't wearing anything underneath. Her nipples stood out dark against all that white skin. She cupped her tits, squeezed them together, ran her thumbs across the stiff peaks until her breath caught. Then she slipped two fingers between her legs and spread herself open so I could see how wet she already was.
"Lock the door," she said. Voice low, rough around the edges. I turned the deadbolt and when I faced her again she had her fingers in her mouth, sucking them clean. She smiled like she knew every filthy thing I wanted to do to her and planned to let me do them twice.
She crawled backward on the bed, knees wide, cunt glistening. I climbed on top, pinned her wrists above her head with one hand. She didn't fight it. Her hips rolled up against my cock, slick and hot, begging without a word. I slid inside in one hard thrust and she gasped, teeth sinking into my shoulder.
We fucked like people who knew better. Rough. Dirty. She came first, legs shaking, nails raking down my back hard enough to draw blood. I followed right after, buried deep, emptying myself while she whispered filthy shit in my ear that made my cock twitch even as it softened inside her.
She lit a cigarette after, naked on the rumpled sheets, smoke curling toward the ceiling. Didn't ask me to stay. Didn't ask me to leave. Just watched me get dressed with that same half-smile, like she was already thinking about next time.
