Vanity fair

Frivolous, filthy thoughts spinning through my head, I sat at the vanity and waited for Dorina to step inside and take the ache away. She crossed the threshold and I was on her, lips crushed to hers, tongue pushing deep, tasting her at once. I yanked the thin robe from her shoulders; it hit the floor with a soft sound. Her breasts pressed against me, warm and bare. I slipped a hand between her thighs, fingers sliding through the heat already gathering there, and Dorina answered with a moan that shivered straight down my spine. I walked us backward to the bed, my mouth still on hers, our teeth scraping, breaths short and hurried. She fell onto the sheets, legs parting for me, and I followed, covering her, grinding against that slick center until neither of us could stand to wait. Her nails raked my back. I caught her wrists, pinned them high, and drove my hips forward—slow, hard, deliberate. Heat sealed us together; the room was nothing but the slick sound of skin, the urgent, wet rhythm of her taking every inch I gave. Dorina arched beneath me, desperate for more, and I gave it to her until we both broke.