Women Seeking Women #170

Her body was still buzzing from the last couple shots she downed by the mini-bar before Pat's hands were suddenly all over her. Real boss-move type, the way he yanked open that dress zipper like it owed him something. Two pulls and the fabric dropped at her feet. Teeth dragged along her collarbone, wet tongue tracing skin as she fumbled with his belt. By the time he bent her over the sticky counter, her dress was buried under some empty mini bottles, perfume sick sweet in the air. He went straight to work, yanking her panties so far to the side the seam tore. Two rough fingers slid between her legs, and yeah, she was soaked already—like she'd been waiting for this since her plane landed. He fucked her deep with them before hauling his cock out, didn't bother teasing, just slammed in. Moans hit the drywall so loud the next room could probably jack off to it. Lube from his suitcase hit the counter next, bottle clattering against her phone. He slicked her clit until her hips bucked. Hips. Bruises. Fucking. Sweat. Metal of his ring taps the vanity top while he pushes in raw, balls tight with every thrust. Rings on his knuckles catching light when he yanks her hair back. She came thinking about how much she'd kept quiet all afternoon and how hard this skinny-ass motherfucker could rail her now.