Caffee latte

Met her one afternoon over coffee. Conversation collapsed fast. Her eyes locked on my breasts while mine drifted down her long, silky legs. One awkward glance became another. We reached for each other at once, hot and clumsy, hands grabbing fabric and skin. Her mouth tasted bitter from the coffee. She pushed me back on the couch and straddled me, legs sliding apart so that silk dress rode higher. I tugged the hem away, palm running up warm thigh until my fingers met the band of her panties. She rocked once, slow and deliberate, then leaned down and bit my lower lip as her fingers slipped under my blouse. We tore at each other's clothes like we had only minutes left. Button snapped. Strap fell. I tasted the hollow between her breasts before she pulled my bra down and sucked a nipple into her mouth, teeth grazing just enough to sting. Our legs tangled. I pressed my knee between hers and felt her grind against it, heat leaking through thin cotton. She laughed once, low in her throat, when I rolled her under me and slid my hand inside her underwear, fingers sliding through slickness, parting her open. Her hips jerked. One finger eased in, then two, deep and sure, curling with every thrust. She gasped, bit my shoulder hard, nails raking down my back. The couch creaked beneath us. Sweat bloomed along her ribs. I kept working her until her legs shook and she clenched around my knuckles, coming with a sharp, beautiful cry.