Lesbian Triangles #24

He took her on the old oak table they'd cleared for this moment, pinning her wrists above her head while rain hammered the windows. She arched under him, thighs tight around his hips, breath hissing between clenched teeth as he drove in deep. Sweat slicked their skin. The raw scrape of wood against her spine only sharpened every thrust. He watched her face twist with pleasure so fierce it bordered on pain, and that look lit something savage in him. She bit his shoulder to muffle the sound, tasted salt and fever. He answered with harder strokes, mouth bruising along her collarbone. Their bodies moved like something ugly and perfect, like a secret they'd die before admitting. When she came she dragged him with her, both of them shaking, clutching, forgetting everything beyond the splinter of table and the slam of rain.