On The Run
He could feel the sweat running down his back now, cloying at his open shirt; his hair stuck to his temples and matted at the nape of his neck; his eyes dilated from the exilharation and half-closed from the exhaustion; his chest pounding.
There was nobody and nothing to be seen back toward the street, only the all-encompassing suburban darkness that hung just outside the jurisdiction of even the strongest of street lighting, the 60 watt bulbs overhead marking the covered walkway as part of the motel but without the power to claim any of its dominance out there.
He turned to her as she used the hem of her summer dress to mop the sweat from her own face and started cursing through the floral print.
She looked up at him with her trademark wild-eyed, beautiful grin and slapped him hard across the cheek.
“Fuck Jim. I told you we should have just gotten outta there!”
Reaching around her he clutched a handful of dress and a sizable amount of soft flesh and pulled her hips back to his. He felt the muscles he had hold of tense along with her thighs and calves as the fire seared through their salty lips with the taste of each other. She melted into him again, just like she’d done thirty minutes earlier.
“FUCK!” she yelled as she pushed herself away from her man, “That was NOT how it was supposed to go down! ‘In and out’ you said; in and out!”
He raised an eyebrow and she started laughing. That insane, sex-filled, sex-fueled laugh that had gotten them found out earlier when they’d given into the the thrill while they were still inside.
“That was fuckin’ close Jim. ‘Ten minutes max’ you said. Five minutes inside and a couple of minutes in and out… quit that willya! If I’d known you had that kinda in and out in mind, I’d….”
She gave in and sank back into his hard body, a thigh either side of his leg as he sat back onto the ledge and pulled her toward him, mouths locked and the two bags by their feet.