Lovers departed
His hands hold on to her hips. Somewhere in the back of his mind he is dimly aware that his knuckles are white and that she will end up with bruises.
But for now all he is able to focus on is her tightness. The smacking sound as he buries himself deep inside her. Her hip bones pressing into his hand. Her muffled voice mumbling into the pillow under her face.
Her back is exposed, her shirt and bra pushed all the way up. Her panties are pushed down, along with her slacks, stopping her from spreading her legs any wider.
He used to let his fingers roam over her. Caress as much of her as he could reach. Fondle her breasts, rub her clit. He used to let go of all restraints, moan into her ear how much he loved to fuck her, how tight she was, how damned hot she looked with her ass raised up, on her knees.
And she used to go wild, hands wound up in the sheets, thrusting herself back at him. Sometimes she would look over her shoulder, encouraging him more, licking her lips, losing control over her face, moaning.
Things are very different now that his hands will not move from her hips, his movements between robotic and frantic. He is using her and maybe he should feel guilty but not right now when it feels so damned good to be inside her again and she is using him just as much.
Her right hand has moved to rub herself and her breathing is loud and quick. It's enough to take him over the edge. His eyes slam shut, his face distorts and and he pumps into her, hissing loudly.
He moves a few more times. With less speed, riding out his orgasm. He is still breathing hard, his pulse still racing and he opens his eyes to look down on her.
Her hand is still between her thighs, rubbing quickly. Still inside her he can feel her tense. She climaxes with a load moan and he feels nothing.
His breathing is starting to slow down. He pulls out and her body sinks unto the sheets. Her face is still pressed into the pillow and he kneels between her legs, arms at his side, unsure of what to do next. For a moment he wants to give into his instincts. Wipe them clean his with shirt, kiss her back. Lie next to her and see her smile.
Instead he looks down unto his softening member, her reddened hips, her legs bound by her slacks and he knows she won't smile.
He gets up. His knees aching and stiff. From the bathroom door he looks back to the female on his bed. She looks vulnerable and he can't help but think: used.
She curls up into the fetal position. Doesn't look at him, just straight ahead.
He walks into the bathroom before he can find out if there are tears.