Sexcetera - Episode 70

She rides him like she owns the clock. Slow at first, hips rolling with the steady patience of someone who plans to take her time. Her hands rest on his chest, fingers spreading wide, pressing down. She watches his face change, reads every flicker that crosses it. The lace of her stockings scratches lightly against his thighs each time she sinks down. He is thick inside her, filling her, and she clenches on purpose, just to feel him pulse back. Sweat beads at the small of her back. Her breathing stays quiet, controlled, though the strain shows in the set of her shoulders. He reaches for her waist and she catches his wrist, pins it to the mattress without breaking rhythm. The room smells of skin and salt and the faint sweetness of whatever she wore earlier. She leans forward, breasts grazing his mouth, and lets him taste one nipple, then the other, her pace never faltering. When she straightens again she takes him deeper, grinding at the bottom of each stroke until the edge catches her. Her mouth parts. She closes her eyes. The rest of the world can wait.