Road Queen #18

She pressed against the wall, knees shaking, as he shoved inside her with no warning, hard and thick. He kept driving into her like he meant to break something loose. The first time they'd done this he'd called her a wicked girl. Now she begged for worse. She clutched at the coat hooks, breath torn out in short gasps, counting every inch he gave. Old paint flaked under her nails. His belt buckle clicked each thrust, a steady dirty beat in the dark. She was wet enough to hear it when he slammed home. Later the landlord would complain about the noise. She wouldn't care. She came so fast it stunned them both, sudden heat tearing through her, then a second wave crashed in right behind it. He spilled inside her with a raw grunt, fingers leaving bruises she would wear like souvenirs for days. Two years gone by since that August afternoon and she still craved the same filthy violence.