Netskirts #11

I had her up against the wall first. Hands flat, cheek turned, back curved to the hip point. Shirt half off, skirt still fighting for skin. Her breasts pushed into paint when I tugged bra straps down and palmed the weight of them. She moaned soft into plaster. I took my time, rolled each nipple between thumb and forefinger until they stiffen sharp against my fingers. Pull her pants to ankles. Slip two fingers between wet lips, test the heat, the give, the tight wet velvet. Heat like silk laid over coal. One, then two, twisting slow and firm until her knees bend and hips press back against each push. I left her there, shaking, while my mouth followed the sweat down her spine, teeth marking as I sink to haunches. Tongue finds her from behind, open and greedy. Her taste spreads over my lips, heavy, honey-sharp. Thick salt smell, proof she’s close, but I back off twice. She curses through it. I stand, undo my pants, let my cock press between her ass cheeks, slick head dragging higher with every roll of her hips. Finally lift her legs, seat her halfway onto the wood ledge, take her hard there. Each thrust punches breath out of her in clear vowels. Her thighs slick my sides. The scrape of painted plaster on bare skin, heels clicking wall, our rhythms off, reckless, dizzy, staying and sliding and staying deep again until the room tilts white around us and she comes once, then goes limp and comes again around the slower wave of mine, trembling beneath, breath broken against her wrist. My fingers bruise her hips without meaning to. I kiss salt from her shoulder blade and stay a little longer, heart against her back, before I help her back into what’s left of her clothes.