Two Mommies

She straddled him in the half-lit motel room. Moaned when he dragged a fingertip across the wet heat between her legs. The silk of her dress rode up high on her thighs. Moonlight sliced across the bed through the half-drawn curtains. Her breathing came quick. His zipper hissed open, metal teeth catching the low glow of a neon sign outside. She settled onto him in one deliberate slide and took him deep. Heat. Pressure. Tightness that clenched around every inch. Their mouths met hard, tongues slick and desperate. She rode him faster. Nails raked his shoulders, leaving bright red lines. Each grind of her hips sent a shock of raw lust up his spine. He gripped her waist. Lifted his own hips to meet her downstroke, driving her higher and harder until nothing existed except their bodies slapping together. Sweat beaded on her back. She gasped. He kept thrusting. The lamp flickered and their shadows warped against the thin wallpaper. The pulse of passing headlights beat across the bed like a silent flashbulb. She came first, choking on a whimper as she shattered. He followed right after, pumping out his release in three long spasms while her walls squeezed around him, milking every last spurt. They fell against the sheets together, tangled limbs and reeking of sex and cigarette smoke. The clock on the nightstand glowed 1:17 a.m.