Busted

Sam's finishing up, grease under her nails, bike purring again. Door slams. Max clocks her hands, the way her shoulders flex. Wants what's hidden inside, what's still tucked away. They barely lock it before they're against the wall, Max pinning Sam, kissing hard. Sam's fingers slide into his belt, yanking it loose. They stumble toward the bedroom, Max clocks the vibrator still on the sheets. Picks it up. Looks her dead in the eye. Sam just nods, breathing faster. Max works the toy between her legs, Sam gripping his wrist, guiding the angle. She yanks his pants down, fingers him with her free hand while he fucks her slow with the vibrator, her hips jerking each time it hits right. They trade off, both taking what they need, nothing soft about it—just heat, hands, sweat, the low hum of the toy and the slap of skin. Sam comes first, biting Max's shoulder, Max follows right after, grinding into her palm. The toy keeps going, slick in their grip, until neither of them can stand it.