Mother Daughter Exchange Club #41

She pulls him toward the window, the late December light falling across her bare skin. The line of his jaw tenses under her touch. Air catches in her throat when he grips her hip and draws her in hard. Her legs part before her mind catches up. The bed frame bites into the backs of her thighs as he lays her down, but the sting only sharpens her need. She feels the ridge of him through the thin fabric, watches his jaw work as her hand closes around the heat of him. He enters her in one steady thrust. Her back bows. Breath and words slip away the same instant, replaced by wet, rhythmic sounds and the creak of springs. Her thighs clamp tight around his waist, muscles locked, slick heat pulsing around the stretch of him. When he grunts her name and pushes deeper, the color drains from her knuckles on the sheets. Every beat of her pulse blooms at the place where they join. By the time release rips through her, her toes are curled, her teeth pressed to the curve of his shoulder, and the world has narrowed to breath, friction, and the taste of skin.