To Protect and to Serve #01

The grimy alley door clicked shut behind us. Neon bleed through curtains, the cheap room stank of rain-wet smoke. Money changed hands. Then she crushed her lips to mine like she owned the rest of the night. Knee on the bedspread, shirt peeled off in one swipe, nipples tightening against the chill glass of the window. Her hand shoved past my belt before I finished counting bills, got me hard and hurting fast, denim ripped down to my thighs. Heat slicked between her legs, made the air feel thick enough to chew. She climbed on, sunk down, took me to the root without asking or saying thank you. The wall clock ticked over our breath—wet, ragged. Every thrust slapped louder than the one before. Sweat streaked her spine and she snarled when I reached for her throat, came like a snapped wire anyway, choking, grinding, biting my collarbone to muffle the sound. My knees tried to buckle. She smiled, half feral, teeth on my ear. “See you next week?” Light sliced the floor as the door creaked again, city roar rushing in, and both of us smiled because the secret tasted sweeter when we left the lights on.