Against the Wall, No Gentle

The word was red. They had agreed on it months ago and neither of them had needed it since. Quinn said it once in the car on the way to his flat, just so they both heard it out loud and remembered it existed, then she told him she did not plan to use it. The flat was small. The wall beside the front door was bare brick, unpainted. She put her back against it before he had even got his coat all the way off.

"Hard," she said. "Don't be careful with me."

He shoved her properly against the brick. Her jumper came off over her head in one pull. His cock was already out of his jeans, hard. He spat on his fingers, rubbed them once between her legs, and pushed in. She was wet but the first stroke still made her swear. The wall took the impact of her shoulders. He fucked her with one hand gripping her hip and the other fisted in her hair, short hard strokes that knocked her against the brick on every one. She told him harder. He gave it to her. She came with her forehead pressed to his shoulder and her cunt gripping him in tight pulses. He pulled out, turned her to face the wall, and fucked her from behind against the same brick until her palms were braced flat and she was pushing her ass back for more. She told him to come inside her. He did, buried deep, a low groan against her neck.

They stayed against the wall long enough for both of them to catch their breath. Then she said again. He fucked her a second time right there, jumper still on the floor, his cock already hard again from the first round. She came with her nails dug into his shoulder. He came across her stomach because she reached back, pulled him out, and said there. They moved to the rug. He took her on her back with her legs over his shoulders, then on her knees with her face against the floor, then bent over the low coffee table because she pointed at it and said the wall had already had its turn. Red stayed unused the entire time. In the morning there was a faint scuff mark on the brick at shoulder height and her thighs were sticky and sore. She bent over the kitchen counter in his T-shirt and nothing else and told him the kettle could wait. He took her there, one hand on the back of her neck. On the drive home she booked nothing else for the weekend and texted him a single word from the passenger seat: wall. He replied with a time and no other comment. She smiled at the phone and shifted in the seat because she was still feeling it. They met three more times that week against the same brick wall. Once he held her there with a careful hand around her throat while he fucked her from behind. She came harder than before and told him to do it again. Red stayed unused. On Sunday she arrived already soaked and said she did not want to leave the wall until she had come at least twice. He gave her three. She left with faint brick dust on her shoulders and a message already typed: next Friday. Same wall. No gentle. He answered with the time.