Cheer Squad Slumber Parties #16

She grips your collar in the dark and pulls, lipstick smudged. Her mouth tastes like bourbon and bad decisions. You pin her wrists above her head against the wall. Hard. She gasps—then smiles, sharp as a switchblade. Her heel digs into the back of your thigh, drags you closer. Sweat already beads on her collarbone. You chase it with your tongue, salt and smoke and something you shouldn’t want. The zipper teeth rasp loud. Her skirt rides up, silk ruined. Breath hot. Pulse hammering. The silk between you tears, and her thighs clench like she wants to break you in half. Outside the neon flickers and dies. Inside her nails carve half-moons into your back, counting every filthy second you steal before the sun comes up.