Behind the Door

The sound is wet and syrupy.

She blushes as His hand glides between those sodden folds, as His finger probes experimentally into the hidden hole. Pushing in, all the way and pulling out, the sound is wet and syrupy again.

Her face is pressed against His throat, certainly He feels the heat of her cheeks.  Her ass is pressed against the back of the door, feeling the cold from outside pressing in on her heated flesh.

The harsh rasping breathing she hears comes from her own throat. Raw, ragged, like a runner struggling for the last yards of the race; her heart is beating at that same ragged pace.

Wet sounds  squelch up from between her parted thighs. Her toes curl inside the shoes, her nipples harden and press against His leather jacket. The zipper runs between her tits, coiled teeth scraping at her flesh as His hand moves up and down, working her flesh.

His fingers jab up into the soft wetness, curling, beckoning  her body to come.

The sound is wet and syrupy as she obeys.