Women Seeking Women #115

She came on a Thursday, half out of her coat before the door shut. I remember the sound of it—fabric sliding, then the quick catch when she left it on one shoulder. March light fell across her collarbones and made her skin look touched already. The couch cushion gave under my knee when I climbed over her. She pulled her skirt up without asking and the fabric whispered against her stockings, a pale band where the elastic bit into her thigh. My hand found the heat between her legs before my mouth found her throat. She tasted clean and faintly metallic, like a coin held too long. When I pushed inside her the couch springs creaked once, then twice, keeping time. Her breath broke every time my hips met hers; I felt it hot against my ear. I remember the rough scrape of her heel down my calf, the small bite she left on my lower lip when she came. Nothing loud, just the tiniest catch in her throat, and then the slow slide of sweat between us cooling on bare skin.