Taking Advantage of Dusty

She walked in expecting conversation. I had other plans. After an hour of dull cosmetics talk I bent over the kitchen counter, skirt rising without any fuss, and let her see the curve of my ass instead of another lipstick swatch. That stopped her mid-sentence. She came up behind me, palms already sliding over the skin I offered, grip firm, breath hot against my neck. Her fingers slipped lower and found me wet, ready, the point of the whole evening. The first thrust made the cabinet doors rattle; everything else fell away in the simple rhythm she set.