Women Seeking Women #125

His mouth crashed into mine on January 22, 2016. Teeth clicked, breath hitched. The clock read 2:13 a.m. but we kept going like the night meant nothing. My dress already pooled at my ankles. He was on his knees before I could say a word, dragging lace down my thighs. Cold marble under my feet, his tongue hot between my legs. I grabbed the banister hard enough to feel the grain bite my palm. He didn't waste time. Two fingers pushed inside me while he sucked my clit, sucking slow, then fast, changing rhythm each time I twitched. He groaned when I got wetter, the sound riding up my spine like a threat. My hips started rocking on their own, chasing more friction, begging with a language without words. When he finally stood, his belt was gone and he spun me. Stomach hit the door. Cheek pressed against cherry wood. One hard thrust and he was in, stretching me open till I cried out. The angle made my eyes roll back. He kept one hand on my hip, the other gripping my hair, yanking it just enough to blur the line between pain and hunger. Our bodies slammed together with the kind of urgency you only find after midnight in places no one names. He grunted filthy compliments against my ear. Told me how tight I felt, how slick, how perfect I fit around his cock. My pulse hammered in my ears. Each shove shoved air from my lungs. The door rattled in its frame every time he bottomed out. Sweat slid between my breasts. He pressed his teeth to the nape of my neck and bit down, claiming, owning, ruining me for any other mouth. I came first—sharp, blinding, knees giving way. He followed right after, gripping my hips with bruising fingers and pumping hot ropes into me until there was nothing left but the sound of both our ragged breathing in a hallway that smelled like rain and sin.