“When are we meeting them?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Is this a party?”

“Not a party. Just friends.”

“YOUR friends.”

“OUR friends.”

“YOUR friends,” I say, putting my hands behind my head. I am lying on the bed. I have been ready for 20 minutes. My pants are off, over the back of a chair, so I don’t wrinkle. My suit jacket is over it, too. I am looking at you, watching you from behind while you stare in the bathroom mirror, trying on earrings.

“You wearing that?” I ask.

“Yes,” you say. “Why?”

“No reason,” I say, sitting up. I cross the bedroom, into the bathroom, my hands on your waist. You have a long black dress, tight, form fitting. “You look sexy,” I say, biting your neck.

“Stop,” you say, nudging me.

“What?” I say, my hands on your dress, pulling it up slowly.

“Don’t,” you say, more firmly. “We don’t have time.”

Your dress is up, over your ass, you feel my cock pressing into you. I reach around, cupping your tits over the fabric. You are not wearing a bra. I squeeze the nipples and you moan, pushing your hands on the counter to brace yourself.

“No time,” you try again, without much fight.

I reach my hand down, tugging at your panties, slipping them down to your thighs. You instinctively spread your legs as I press into you, forcing your back down, against the counter, your hands reaching out, bracing against the mirror.

I grab my cock, teasing your slit. You are wet. Soaked. Already. I slide the head in and you grunt. One thrust, and I am all the way in. You bite your lip, smearing your red lipstick.