Women Seeking Women #77

He touched her in a rush—slow tonight would get them caught. She shoved a palm to the window glass while the city’s neon flickered over her ribs and heat poured down her spine like expensive whiskey burning from the inside. White sheets gripped in her fist. Red dress hiked and useless around her waist. He stood behind her, breath hot on her neck, hips snapping forward. Wet sound every time he slid in deeper. Her thighs shook. Sweat pulled hair to her throat. The air conditioner rattled uselessly above them. She pushed back onto him harder. Wanted it bruised. Wanted proof. He grabbed the hip bone ridge like reins, knuckles white against her skin. Teeth grazing her shoulder. Tongue tasting salt. She could smell the starch in his rented suit, mixed now with the sharp musk of what they were doing. He came with a low noise that sounded like surrender and trouble at the same time. She felt it flood warm inside her and she stayed pressed to the glass a second longer, letting everything drip down her thigh. Lingerie forgotten on the floor.