No Neighbours

Ava locked the suite and left the champagne on the trolley in the hall.

Cole watched her do it. They had sent the messages. They had named the things. Thin walls at home, a neighbour with opinions, three weeks of texts that had stopped being cute and become instructions. She was thirty-four. He was thirty-seven. Both of them had come here to get fucked like they meant it.

"Still the list?" he asked.

"All of it," Ava said. "Hard. Not cruel. You slap my cunt, you check my face. You come in me. I already told you I'm safe and I want it."

He kissed her hard enough to mash her against the door, then turned her and bent her over the luggage rack because it was the nearest thing that would hold. Her dress went up. He dragged her knickers to her knees and spanked her arse, open hand, loud, until the skin bloomed and she was pushing back. Two fingers in her cunt. She was dripping. He fucked her with them, then pulled them out and slapped her there, once, wet and obscene.

"Colour?"

"Green. Again."

He slapped her cunt again, then shoved his cock in to the base. Ava shouted. He held her hips and pounded her, the rack creaking, each thrust a slap of skin. She braced and took it, talking filth over her shoulder, telling him deeper, telling him she could feel him in her stomach, telling him not to be polite now that they had paid for the door.

Cole pulled her up by the hair, not yanking, just using it, and walked her to the bed without leaving her. He put her on her back, threw her legs up, and fucked her folded, knees by her ears, so she could watch his cock drive in. The wet sound filled the room. He spat on her clit and rubbed it with his thumb while he hammered her, and Ava came like that, gushing around him, swearing, nails in his forearm.

He did not stop. He fucked her through it and into the oversensitive stretch after, until she was gasping and grabbing his arse to pull him deeper anyway. Then he flipped her, put her face in the pillow, and took her from behind with one hand between her shoulders. Ava reached under herself and rubbed her clit raw and came again, weaker, shaking, cunt fluttering around him.

"In me," she said. "Do it. Fill me up."

Cole buried himself and came, groaning, pulsing, staying deep so she would feel every jerk. When he pulled out, come leaked onto the sheet. Ava reached back, pushed two fingers into herself, and held them up so he could see.

"Again," she said. "When you can. I want it running down my thigh when we open the door for breakfast."

He laughed, breathless, and went to his knees at the edge of the bed. He ate her like that, his come and hers, tongue fucking it back into her, until she was grinding on his mouth and coming a third time with her hand in his hair. His cock filled while he did it. He stood, dragged her to the edge, and pushed back in, slower only because he was sensitive, then harder when she told him to stop babying it.

They knocked a lamp. They soaked the sheet. Cole came in her again with her calves on his shoulders, and Ava lay there after, stuffed and grinning at the ceiling, champagne forgotten in the hall.

"Morning," she said.

"Morning," he said. "And you're not putting knickers on until after coffee."

Ava lay in the wreck of the sheet and felt him leak out of her, a slow warm slide toward the mattress. Her cunt was swollen, sensitive, still fluttering if she clenched. Cole fetched water and made her drink before he kissed her, which was annoyingly competent. She pulled him back down anyway. His cock was soft against her thigh, sticky, and she wrapped her hand around it and squeezed until he hissed.

"Sensitive."

"Good. You earned sensitive." She stroked him lazily, not to get him hard yet, just to keep him in her hand. "The slap on my cunt. Do that at home and the neighbour writes to the body corporate. Here you can do it twice."

"I did it twice."

"Then three times before breakfast." She smiled, mean and pleased. "And I want you to eat it out of me in the morning until I'm late for the train. You come in me again if you can. If you can't, you come on my tongue and say thank you."

Cole laughed into her neck. "You're a menace."

"You booked the menace a suite." She rolled onto her stomach and looked back at him, arse still pink from his hand, thighs shiny. "Finger me. I want to sleep full."

He slid two fingers into her, easy now, come slicking the way, and fucked her slowly with them while she sighed into the pillow. Not chasing another orgasm. Just keeping the feeling. Her hips rocked anyway. He pressed his thumb to her clit and she came a last small time, clenching around his fingers, a tired bright shock. He left them in until she pushed his wrist away.

They slept badly and happily. At seven the light through the blackout curtain was a grey blade. Ava woke to Cole already hard against her arse, his mouth on her shoulder, his hand checking her thigh like a question.

"Green," she said, before he asked, voice rough with sleep. "Hard. Then coffee. Then you can be a person again."

He pushed into her from behind, still loose and wet from the night, and fucked her in short deep strokes until the headboard tapped and she was gasping into the pillow. It was quicker than midnight. Meaner in the morning way, no performance, just cock and heat and the slap of his hips. She rubbed her clit and came with him buried, and he followed, adding to the mess, staying inside while they both caught their breath.

In the shower she made him watch it run down her thigh before she washed. At breakfast, knickers in her bag and not on her, she crossed her legs under the table and smiled at him over bad hotel coffee like a woman with a secret the waiter would not survive hearing.