It’s evening, most of a bottle of wine drunk between us, all our clothes stripped off except for your socks – overlooked in our hungry fumbling – and the lace bralette that’s pushed up over my tits. I’m sitting on your lap, toes just brushing the carpet, barely enough to balance, and I’ve got one hand down between my legs.
‘Keep touching yourself,’ you say, not so much commanding as impulsive, like you can’t help it, like you really want to see it, and I do: let my fingertips slip in circles playing round my clit. I’m swollen and wet with my own slick and lube, too, from the toys we started with earlier; wet enough now that I’m slipping a little on your thighs. You tighten your forearm that’s braced across my hips and to hitch me a little closer against your chest. Your other hand is up playing with one of my nipples, rolling it between your fingers just hard enough that my body gives a little quiver with every tug.
“I’m gonna – oh fuck – I want you,” I say, not very coherent, grinding over your lap. I can feel your breath on the back of my neck and the weight of your cock jerking against the inside of my thigh and –
“please,’ I say, frantic, ‘fuck me, let me, please,’ and you tighten your forearm, graze your teeth over my shoulder. I try to wriggle down, to grind against you harder, take you inside, and you pinch my nipple in the web of two of your fingers, a duller, deeper pinch than fingertips would be.
‘After,’ you say, ‘wanna see you,’ and you move your hand down from my breast and pull one of my legs wider apart so you can see my fingers slipping and rubbing, see the tendons jumping in my inner thigh, see my pussy pink and glistening. Your cock isn’t twitching now, anymore, is pressed hard and straining between my legs, just beside my cunt. I can see it there, see the bright sheen of precum over its head, see –
that does it: I arch back against you, legs pulling up involuntary, scream choked short because fuck, hotel, thin walls. I sit awhile on your lap while the aftershocks settle, tracing my fingers over your cock. It judders up against my open palm.
‘Now?’ I say, breathless, and you answer with a noise low in your throat and take me to bed.