Before I leave...

Susan stands by the door, handbag on her shoulder, when she sees him watching her. She sets the bag down without a word. One knee, then the other, sinks into the carpet. Her fingers are already working his belt open, zipper down, warm skin meeting her hand. She takes him in her mouth in a single, smooth stroke, lips closing tight, tongue flattening along the underside. He steadies himself with one hand on the wall. She works him deeper, steady and unhurried, eyes lifted. Spit runs down her chin; she does not wipe it away. When her jaw starts to ache she pulls off, stands, turns, and bends over the arm of the sofa. He steps in behind her, pushes her dress up, and slides home in one hard thrust. She gasps, pushes back, meets every stroke. Their rhythm quickens. Her breathing turns ragged, knuckles white on the cushions. He grips her hips, drives harder, and she comes with a sharp cry, body tightening around him. A few final thrusts and he follows, buried deep. She straightens, smooths her dress, kisses the corner of his mouth, picks up her bag, and walks out with a small, satisfied smile.