Backstage

One sip from the bottle pulls you under like velvet. Heat blooms low in your belly. Her back arches, thighs pressing together. She watches your mouth with naked hunger. You feel the liquid working. Cock thickening against your zipper, every nerve stripped raw. Her nipples tighten under thin cotton. She reaches for you first, palm sliding down to grip you through denim, breath catching. Fingers fumble buttons open, she’s wet already, slick against your skin. You push her down, slide in deep, hard. She takes it, mouth open, nails digging crescents into your back. Every thrust meets that tight, liquid heat. She comes with a broken cry, cunt fluttering around you. You don’t stop. Neither does she.