Women Seeking Women #98

She straddled him on the sofa, dark skirt pushed up around her hips, a cigarette burning low in the ashtray beside them. Her hand pumped him in slow strokes, the swollen head glossy in the lamplight. The curtains billowed in a hot breeze. Blood-dark stockings caught the glow as she swung one leg across his lap and guided him inside. Her thighs flexed; he drove upward, flesh meeting flesh in a wet rhythm. His fingers bit into the soft swell of her ass. They moved together in a rhythm that blurred the line between lover and accomplice. The radio hissed static. Somewhere, a clock ticked and time meant nothing. Only heat. Only breath. Only the slap of skin that said the real crime had only just begun.