Page 4

I walk her back into the opposite wall and start moving, and there’s nothing controlled left in either of us. Her hips roll down to meet each thrust, grinding herself onto my cock, taking more than I’m giving and pulling for the rest, her hands fisted in my hair, her mouth at my throat. I grip her ass in both hands and pump up into her, hard, feeling her cunt swallow every inch, feeling how soaked she is, how slick, how her body’s been ready for this since before we walked in here.

She rides me back. That’s the only word for it, her hips working in counterpoint to mine, rolling and grinding and snapping down onto each upward thrust, her thighs locked around me, her whole weight moving with me, and the sounds coming out of her are pornographic and she doesn’t care, not anymore, all the pretending gone, stripped out thrust by thrust until there’s nothing left but this.

I drive up into her harder, and she moans, loud and broken, and I do it again, and again, slamming up into her with everything I have, her back hitting the wall with each stroke, and she takes it all and rolls her hips back for more. I can feel her dripping onto me, feel the wet heat of her every time I pull back and the slick clench every time I push in, and the sound of it is obscene, and neither of us is doing anything to muffle it.

“Don’t stop,” she says into my throat, “don’t you dare stop—”

I don’t stop. I pump into her relentlessly, my fingers digging into the meat of her ass, holding her exactly where I want her, and she’s grinding down onto me between thrusts, chasing it, both of us past any pretense of rhythm or control, just two bodies taking what they need from each other in a bar bathroom at midnight with the bass bleeding under the door.

But then she’s close, and I want to show her who’s in charge here. I can feel her orgasm building in the rhythmic tightening, in the way her hips have stopped being deliberate and started chasing, her whole body pulling toward the same conclusion, and I slow down.

The sound she makes could strip grout.

“Don’t,” she says.

“Not yet.”

“You don’t get to—”

I pull out entirely, set her down, and turn her before she’s formed a word, one hand at her hip and one flat between her shoulder blades, pressing her chest to the tile. She goes, both palms finding the wall, and I get my cock back inside her from behind in one stroke, and she goes up onto her toes, a long broken sound pressed against the tile.

The angle is deeper this way. I can feel it in how tight she is, how her cunt grips every inch differently, and I get both hands locked at her hips and pull her back onto me and start moving. Each thrust drives her into the wall, and she pushes back to meet it, her ass pressing back against my hips, taking all of it. I can see the side of her face against the tile, eyes closed, lips parted, cheek flushed dark, and her curls are loose against her neck, and I grip a fistful of them and pull her head back and thrust harder, and the sound she makes is loud and shameless, and I do it again just to hear it.

I can see where my cock is disappearing into her, slick and soaked, and I pull back slow just to watch it and push back in hard, and she cries out, and her palms slap the tile.

I reach around her and find her clit, and she loses whatever was left of her composure entirely.

“There,” she says, “don’t stop, right there—”

I work her with two fingers and keep the pace and feel her start to unravel, the grip of her cunt going rhythmic around my cock, clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing, her hips losing all coordination and just taking what I’m giving her. I can feel how wet she is, soaked through, dripping down my fingers, and I curl them and press, and her knees buckle, and I hold her up with my hips and my hand and don’t let up.

She comes hard. Her cunt clamps down around my cock so tight I have to work to keep moving, and I do, driving through it, feeling every pulse of her orgasm grip me and release and grip again. She’s shaking from her thighs up, her whole body going in waves, and the sound she makes starts low and builds and fills the room completely, raw and broken and loud enough that anyone within ten feet of that door knows exactly what’s happening in here, and she doesn’t muffle a single second of it.

I feel her cum dripping down the inside of her thighs and onto my fingers and I keep working her through every last pulse until her legs are shaking so hard she can’t hold herself up and her sounds have gone from loud to helpless, small and wrecked, her forehead against the tile, her palms dragging down it, and only then do I slow my fingers and let her breathe.

I pull out. Give her three seconds.

“I need a minute,” she says.

“You’ve got one.” I turn her around. Her eyes are half-glazed, honey burned dark, and she looks like a woman who just arrived at a conclusion she wasn’t prepared for. I get my hands under her thighs and lift her, carry her the four feet to the narrow counter along the opposite wall. Her legs lock around my hips before I’ve put her down, and I push back in and feel her breath leave in a rush against my throat.

“I just came,” she says, and the affront in it is genuine.

“I know.” I pull back and push forward and feel her hips lift to meet me. “But I’m still hard, and your body hasn’t finished with that yet.”

“That’s not how—” a breath, “—that’s not how physiology works.”

“Tell your physiology.”

She doesn’t answer because I’ve found a different angle here, deeper, and her head tips back and her hands go to the counter edge on either side of her, gripping the lip of it. The counter isn’t stable. I don’t care. I set one hand flat on the wall behind her and get the other under her and pull her to the edge and watch her face, because her face right now is doing everything she’s kept off it all night.

Her hands let go of the counter and come to my shirt instead, fisting in the fabric at my chest, and she pulls me down toward her and gets her mouth to my jaw and sets her teeth in it. Not a kiss. Never a kiss. A claim, teeth and pressure, and that’s the moment I stop rationing anything.

I pull back, drive into her, and don’t stop. The pace goes brutal, each thrust slamming her back into the wall, and I chase it like I need it, like something in me has been starved down to the bone and she’s the only thing that feeds it. I can feel every inch of her cunt around my cock, slick and swollen and gripping me on every stroke, and I pull back and give it to her again, harder, the counter scraping the floor with the force of it. Her hips drive up to meet each thrust, grinding her clit against me, taking everything and pulling for more, her nails through my shirt and into my back and I feel that and push harder.

I’ve got both hands on her hips now, pulling her onto me with each stroke, and I can feel how soaked she is, feel her dripping down my cock, hear the wet obscene slap of my body against hers with every thrust, and I don’t slow down, don’t soften it, just pump into her relentlessly, chasing the clench and the heat and the sounds she’s making that have gone completely to pieces.

“Harder,” she says against my neck.