You push harder into her, flattening her back against the cold wall. She's taking tiny gulps of air because it's all you'll let her take before you thrust and twist again. Her fingers dig into your shoulder and back hard, and you know that they'll leave bruises that you'll admire in the morning despite yourself.
"J-Jade..." she manages to say your name in a strangled syallable, but it costs her a breath to. You don't know if she's pleading for you to stop, go on or go faster so you do what you want to and keep going. The both of you are in the spacious handicap bathroom stall at Hollywood Arts, while class is in session. And you're both all too aware of the fact that someone could walk in at any moment, but it just adds that extra thrill to it. A lock of her brunette hair makes a bold stripe against her throat and it reminds you of a collar.
And that makes you want to see her on her knees, begging like a starving animal.
So your fingers stroke her wet walls for a few more seconds before you pull out, her essence slick and coating your pale hand. Her hips buck uselessly, searching to end the emptiness. Your hands pull her weakened body away from the supportive wall. She feels your commanding hands on her bare shoulders, steering her down to the floor. Your dark jeans and the garment underneath fall to the floor and you impatiently kick them away. Your rough, unforgiving fingers curl tightly in her brunette locks, yanking her closer to the exposed flesh.
Her breath washes over your core, almost tickling you. Her tongues dips in and out, sucks and licks until your breath starts to shake. Your head hits the wall behind you with a soft thump as white explodes beneath your eyelids, limbs shaking, and airway constricting with silent screams. This is the closest she ever sees - or feels - you to being vunerable and it's the closest you plan to let her. When your body finally stills you take a few seconds to get back into focus before you dive onto of the girl below you with the ferocity of a rabid wolf. Your nails scratch, your fingers bruise, and your teeth nip at the girl that you've reduced to little more than a mass of trembly, needy flesh. Your fingers find the apex of her thighs and dip back down inside again.
Your fingers curl cruely into her velvet walls, thrust harder than they should. The sole unoccupied hand you have makes itself quickly known; skimming over the other girl's chest. Strangled sounds come out of her airway, whimpering and whining that sends you into a mad frenzy. The whimpers turn to sobs as her body starts to tremor again and when it stills once more you yank away. The clothing that you discarded earlier is snatched off the floor and tugged up your legs, still sticky with your own essence.
You lean down grip her by her jaw. She's completely limp and worn out, but you use your grip to pull her, weakly scrambling, to her feet. She can barely stand and her breathing sounds like air spluttering out of a broken pipe. You look into her eyes to witness it, the soft pliability that you've used for your own good again. She jolts down, knees buckling under her slender frame, but you catch her and hold her against you. With fingers tipped with black nail polish, you yank her unresisting head back. Her eyes flutter closed, shielding the chocolate orbs from your sight. Your lips suck and lick at her skin, salty with her sweat before your lips are right next to her ear to deliver a message of deep importantance to you.
"You're mine, Vega. Get used to it." And then you release her, letting her collaspe like dead weight. She lies on the floor, eyes still closed, her sides erraticly moving up and down in a struggle for air to fill her lungs. Without another word, you turn and walk out, the heels of your boots clicking against the tile. When the door creaks and swings shut behind you, you tell yourself the same thing that you told yourself the first time it happened.
It's just fucking. Nothing else.
Sigh...just trying to get this one-shotness out of my system...