Women Seeking Women #70

She straddles him in that god-awful vinyl chair, the overhead light buzzing like a dying fly. Her hips move slow, deliberate, taking every inch of him until their bodies lock tight. Sweat beads on her lower back as she grinds down harder, the leather creaking beneath them. His hands clamp her waist, fingers digging into flesh, guiding her rhythm like he's calling the shots—until she twists and takes control again. The clock on the wall ticks past midnight. Their breathing grows ragged, matched to the wet slap of skin meeting skin. She leans in close, teeth grazing his earlobe, whispering filth that makes his grip tighten. Neither of them cares about the risk. The door stays unlocked. The files stay open on the desk. She rides harder, chasing that raw edge where pleasure turns sharp. His mouth finds her breast, tongue circling slow as her pace turns frantic, desperate.