Texas Lesbian Dancer Stories #01

Danielle and Zander are wound tight. They count seconds between slammed doors and sleep, impatient for silence. The second the last roommate steps out they move like the hallway could collapse. Door clicks. They don't bother with preamble, just belt buckles and hurried fabric. Danielle's fingers work his fly while his mouth claims the skin above her collarbone. Heat, sweat, the low furniture knocking as he bends her over the couch arm. She grips the cushion, teeth pressed to leather, while he drives in hard and raw. Every thrust lands with the urgency they've stockpiled since morning, fast, filthy, and laced with moans they no longer stifle. He's relentless, hands pinning her hips. Her breath breaks when her legs start shaking. He stays buried and reaches between them, thumb sliding slick over her clit until she bucks and comes shaking around him. Only then does he finish, deep and ugly, holding her still as he empties. They don't speak afterward. Clothes stay half-on, bodies slack against the upholstery, breathing ragged in the sudden quiet.