Wet

Matty pins Bernie against the wall, hips grinding slow. Her fingers tug at his belt until it slips free, the metal buckle ticking once against tile. She drops to her knees. Bernie’s breath catches when she pulls him out, already thick and hot. She drags her tongue along the underside, tasting salt, then slides the whole length past her lips. He twitches against her tongue. Her hand works the base in tight, wet strokes while she sinks deeper, cheeks hollowing. Spit trails down her knuckles. Bernie’s palm flattens on the wall, knuckles pale. He thrusts once, testing, and she takes it—throat opening around him, wet sounds filling the narrow hall. Her free hand slips between her own thighs, two fingers working quick circles under her waistband. She moans around his cock, the vibration forcing a curse from his mouth. He swells heavier against her tongue. She pulls off only to lick a slow stripe from root to tip, eyes never leaving his. Then she swallows him again, deeper, until her nose brushes skin. The hand between her legs never stops moving. Bernie’s hips jerk; she meets each thrust with a steady throat, working him closer with every slick pull. When he groans her name, raw and shaking, she takes him to the root and holds there, fingers still rubbing frantic patterns over her own slick flesh until they both break together in the tight, steaming dark.