Backstage of 'You'd better watch out...'

Claire's nipples hardened when the cold air hit them. She pressed back into the wall and Sam followed, sliding one thigh between her legs. The window ledge bit into her spine but she didn't care. His belt clinked open, then his jeans. The thick head of his cock nudged her cunt lips, already slick. One hard push and he was inside her—filling, stretching, the stretch sweet enough to make her breath catch. She wrapped a heel around his back and he drove deeper, grunting low. Each thrust rocked her shoulders against plaster. Steam fogged the glass beside them; outside, snow fell in lazy spirals. He bit the tendon where neck met shoulder, then sucked the mark. Her fingers knotted in his hair, pulling. He answered with shorter, sharper strokes until the wet slap of skin echoed in the quiet room. When she came, she clamped around him so tight his rhythm faltered. He buried a curse in her throat, hips jerking, emptying inside her. For a moment neither moved—only the tick of the radiator and the silent snow kept time.