The window broke inward and they came through it together.
Glass on hardwood. His shoulder hit the floor and she landed on top of him and they were both breathing too hard to talk. Somewhere behind them, three blocks back, a Maggia warehouse was on fire and men with guns were screaming at each other in Italian and none of that mattered because she was laughing. Full, real, her head thrown back, platinum hair wild around her face and bits of glass in it catching the streetlight through the broken window.
"You," she said, still laughing, shoving his chest, "are the worst lookout I've ever worked with."
"I got us out."
"You set the building on fire."
"I got us out of a building that was on fire. Different thing."
She was straddling his waist. The catsuit was torn at the shoulder from a bullet that had passed close enough to singe the fabric. Her chest was heaving and her cheeks were flushed and her pupils were so wide her green eyes looked black. She smelled like smoke and sweat and that perfume, vetiver and vanilla, buried under all of it.
Her apartment. He'd been here once, for the planning. Exposed brick. A bed too big for the studio. Clothes on a chair. She'd left a lamp on and the orange light turned her skin gold.
She was still on top of him. Thighs gripping his hips through the catsuit. The laughter was fading. Her breathing wasn't slowing down. She was looking at him like she'd looked at that vault the first night. Deciding what to take.
Her mouth came down on his.
Hard. Hands on either side of his head, pressing his skull into the hardwood. She kissed with her whole mouth, no buildup, tongue pushing past his lips, and she tasted like the energy drink she'd downed on the rooftop an hour ago. Her hips ground down against him and his cock was already half-hard from the adrenaline and the LP bar doing whatever it was doing, and the pressure of her through the catsuit made it worse. Made it immediate.
He grabbed her waist. She caught his wrists and pinned them to the floor beside his head.
"Hands to yourself."
Low. An edge under the amusement. She held his wrists against the hardwood and rolled her hips and he could feel the heat of her through the suit, through his jeans, and the friction was wrong and good and not enough. His cock strained against the denim and she rocked right over the ridge of it. Deliberate. Her chin lifted. His jaw went tight and she liked that.
She sat up. His wrists under her hands, her weight settling on his hips. She looked down at him. Hair falling forward, framing her face. She reached behind her neck with one hand and found the zipper.
The sound was loud in the quiet room. A long, slow pull. She held his gaze while she did it. Daring him to look away, daring him not to.
The zipper went to her navel. The suit parted and underneath was skin, just skin, no bra, and the edges of the suit peeled back from her breasts as the tension released. Full. Heavy enough to shift when she breathed. Her nipples were hard from the cold air through the broken window and they tightened further as he watched.
She shrugged the suit off her shoulders. Slow. One side, then the other. Peeling it down her arms until it bunched at her waist, and she was bare from the hips up, sitting on him in the lamplight, and his lungs forgot how to work.
He reached for her. She caught his hand.
"I said hands to yourself." The smirk. "You earn that."
She leaned down and pulled his shirt up over his head. Her breasts pressed against his bare chest, her skin hot from the run, nipples dragging across him as she pulled the shirt off and tossed it. The heat of her against his bare skin after all the layers was too much too fast. He sucked air through his teeth and she heard it and smiled against his neck. She bit the tendon where neck met shoulder and he felt it in his cock, a throb that pushed him from half-hard to straining, and she felt it too because she rocked her hips against the hardness and made a low sound against his skin.
She went lower. Mouth on his collarbone. His chest. Her tongue flat on his sternum, tasting the sweat. Her hands worked his belt, fast, efficient. Unbuttoned his jeans. Pulled the zipper. Her hand found him through his boxers and squeezed.
He sucked air through his teeth.
"Mm." She squeezed again. Stroked the length of him through the cotton, slow, her thumb dragging over the head where a wet spot was spreading. "You're already this hard?"
"You've been sitting on me for two minutes."
"Three." She pulled the waistband down and his cock came free and the cool air hit him and then her hand was on bare skin, wrapping around the shaft, and her grip was firm and her palm was warm and callused and he heard himself groan.
She looked at it. At him. Her hand moved. A slow pull from base to tip, her fingers learning the shape, thumb circling the head where he was slick. She did it again, tighter, and watched his face while she worked him. His jaw. His stomach. His hips twitching when her thumb caught the ridge.
"Not bad," she said. Her hand kept moving. "For a guy who sets buildings on fire."
She slid down his body. Her breasts dragged along his stomach, his hips, and her face was level with his cock and she looked up at him through her lashes and her tongue came out and licked a flat stripe from the base to the tip.
His head hit the floor.
She did it again. Base to tip. Slow. Deliberate. The third time she let her lips close around the head and the heat of her mouth was sudden and wet and tight and his hands fisted against the hardwood. Her tongue circled the head, pressing into the slit, and she watched his face while she did it. Green eyes looking up past the length of his cock, her lips stretched around him, and his cock kicked in her mouth and she felt it and her eyes narrowed and she took more.
Inch by inch. Unhurried. Letting him feel each new depth. The back of her tongue, soft and wet. The roof of her mouth, ridged, pressing against the topside of his shaft. Her hand worked what her mouth couldn't reach. Her cheeks hollowed on the upstroke and the suction made his toes curl in his sneakers, which he was still wearing, which he hadn't taken off because she hadn't let him.
Her head bobbed. Slow rhythm. Each downstroke deeper. Each upstroke tighter. She twisted her hand on the shaft while her lips sealed around the head and the combination of her fist and her mouth, the wet slide, the suction, had his abs cramping from trying not to thrust.
Wet sounds. Her lips. Her spit dripping down his shaft, her hand spreading it. The quiet apartment making every slick sound louder. She pulled off with a pop and looked at him, her lips wet and swollen, and stroked him while she caught her breath.
"You're quiet."
"I'm trying not to finish in two minutes."
She grinned. Licked her lips. Took him back in, deeper this time, and the back of her throat was tight and hot and she swallowed around him and his hips bucked off the floor before he could stop them and she pulled back coughing, laughing.
"Easy."
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Just- let me."
She stood. Stood right over him and peeled the catsuit down from her waist. She had to work it over her hips, the material was that tight, and he watched her push it down her thighs, past her knees, stepping out of it one leg at a time. She was wearing black underwear. A narrow strip of fabric that covered nothing. Her legs were long, muscled, faintly sheened with sweat. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband and looked down at him.
"Still hands to yourself?"
She slid them down. Stepped out of them. Naked in the lamplight except for the bits of glass still glinting in her hair.
He was staring. He knew he was staring. She stood over him and let him. Shoulders back. Chin up. She turned a slow half-circle, showing him, and the lamp caught the curve of her ass and the line of muscle running down her thigh and the shadow between her legs where she was already wet. He could see the shine on her inner thigh.
She dropped to her knees, straddling him again. Bare skin against his thighs. The wetness between her legs left a warm streak on his lower stomach when she settled her weight. He could feel the heat of her, how slick she was, right against his skin.
She reached behind her. Found his cock. Positioned the head against her and he could feel her, slick, hot, the lips parting around the tip without him pushing. She held him there. Right at the entrance. Looking at his face.
"Don't move."
She sank down.
Slow. The first inch was tight, resistant, her body clenching before relaxing and opening and letting him deeper. The heat was immediate, surrounding, and she was wet enough that the slide was smooth but he could feel every inch of it. The stretch of her around him. Her walls gripping and releasing and gripping again as she took more. Two inches. She bit her lip. Three. Her breathing went fast through her nose and her hands went to his chest for balance. Four. A bitten-off sound. Her thighs trembled against his hips. Five. Six. All of him, her weight on his hips and her ass on his thighs and she stopped breathing.
He stopped breathing.
She sat there. Full. Adjusting. Her mouth open, her eyes half-closed, her fingers digging into his chest, and he could feel her pulse around him, or his around her. Her walls squeezed and released in small involuntary contractions and each one dragged along his full length.
"Fuck," she whispered.
She moved.
A slow grind, forward and back, not lifting, rolling her hips with him buried deep. Finding the angle. Her clit pressed against his pelvis on the forward roll and she gasped, quick, and did it again, harder. Her hands flat on his chest. Her back arched. She ground forward and the wet sound of it was loud between them and her face flushed red.
He watched her. Her breasts moving with the rhythm. The sheen of sweat forming on her stomach. Her face, focused, chasing it. She was riding him for her angle, her speed, her pleasure, and every selfish grind took him deeper and the wet friction along his cock was dragging him toward an edge he was nowhere near ready for.
She found the angle. Her jaw went slack. She locked into it, grinding harder, faster, tight circles that kept him deep and kept her clit pressed against him. The wet sound of the motion was getting louder. Wetter. She heard it too because the flush on her chest spread to her neck and she bit the inside of her cheek.
"Ah- nn-"
Her breathing went ragged. Through her mouth. Short gasps on each forward grind. Her hands slid from his chest to his shoulders, nails biting in, and she leaned forward and her breasts were in his face, warm, heavy, swaying with her rhythm. Nipples dragging across his mouth. He turned his head and caught one and sucked and she choked.
"Don't- I didn't say you could-"
Her hips ground harder while she said it.
He sucked. Tongue flat, then circling. She was still trying to tell him about the rules and her voice was coming apart between gasps. He felt her tighten around him, a squeeze that ran from base to tip, and her grinding went desperate, losing the smooth circles for messy rocking. She was soaking him. He could feel it running down his shaft, pooling where their bodies met.
"Ah- fuck- that's-"
She sat up. Planted her hands on his chest. Started riding for real.
Lifting. Her thighs working, raising her hips until he was almost out, just the head inside her, the entrance gripping tight, then dropping back down and taking all of him. The sound when she bottomed out was thick, wet, obscene, and it got louder each time because she was soaking, dripping, and he could feel it running down between them to the hardwood.
"Ah- ah- ah-"
One on every drop. Involuntary. Her rhythm was faster, her body rising and falling, breasts bouncing on each impact, platinum hair swinging across her face and sticking to the sweat on her neck. She wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were closed. Her mouth open. Red from her collarbones to her hairline. Each bounce slammed her ass against his thighs and the wet slap of skin on skin filled the studio.
He watched her lip. She bit it. Teeth sinking into her lower lip and holding.
She was close.
He grabbed her hips.
"I said- hands-"
He pulled her down onto him hard and thrust up from below and she choked. Her head dropped forward, hair falling around their faces, and her mouth opened and nothing came out. He did it again. Up into her while pulling her down, deeper from this angle, and her whole body jerked. Her nails raked his chest.
"There- right- fuck- don't stop- please- ah-"
High. Breathless. Breaking apart between words. He kept the angle, kept the thrust, her body jerking on each one, and she was biting her lip again, hard, the skin going white under her teeth, and her eyes were screwed shut and her stomach flexed on every impact and her breathing caught. Held.
She came.
Rigid. Back arched, mouth open, and the sound that came out of her was raw, wrecked, loud enough to hit the brick walls and bounce back. Her walls clenched around him in hard pulses, squeezing, releasing, squeezing, and he felt every contraction along his full length and his hands dug into her hips and he held himself still because one more thrust and he was done. Her hips jerked in short bucks, grinding against him through the aftershocks, and her thighs were shaking so hard the tremor went through his whole body.
She collapsed forward, her teeth sinking into his shoulder, a raw sound muffled against his skin. Breathing ragged and hot on his skin. Hair everywhere, stuck to the sweat between them. Her body still twitching around him. Small clenches that pulled along his cock.
"Oh god," she said into his neck. "Oh my god."
He was still hard. Still inside her.
He rolled them.
She gasped. On her back now, him between her legs, and the shift in position changed the angle and she was swollen and oversensitive and the feel of him inside her at this depth made her flinch. Her hands went to his shoulders.
"Wait- I just- give me a-"
He pulled back. Slow. She shuddered, her walls gripping at him on the outstroke, swollen, oversensitive, trying to hold him in. He pushed back. All the way. Slow. Every inch deliberate. She whimpered. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and her legs came up, wrapping around his waist, her heels pressing into his lower back.
"Too much," she said. Her hips lifted to meet his next thrust.
He set a pace. Steady. Long strokes that pulled him almost out and pushed all the way back. Every re-entry made her twitch, her oversensitive walls gripping tighter than before. She was so wet the sounds were obscene. Slick, rhythmic. The squelch on every thrust filling the studio. She heard it. Her face went red again. She turned her head into the floor and he could see the tendons in her neck standing out.
He leaned down. His chest against hers. Her breasts compressed between them, hot, skin sliding on skin. He could feel her nipples, hard, dragging against his chest on each thrust. His mouth found her neck and he bit the tendon, gently, and she turned her head to give him more and a sound pushed through her clenched teeth. Bitten-back. Fighting it.
"Nn- ah- nn-"
He picked up speed. Her legs tightened around him. The bed was three feet away and they were still on the floor and the hardwood was creaking under them. Her hands went from his shoulders to his back, nails raking down his spine, and the sting made his hips snap harder and she cried out.
"Ah-"
She was looking at him. Eyes open, glassy, unfocused. Her mouth moving, no sound. Then her eyes focused and she grabbed his head and pulled him down and kissed him. Sloppy. Urgent. Moaning into his mouth. She tried to say his name and a gasp cut through it and she gave up and just kissed him, open-mouthed, breathing his air.
He was close. The tightness at the base of his cock, the heat spreading. She was clenching on every thrust now, involuntary, her body gripping him in short pulses.
He drove in harder. The rhythm rougher. Her kiss fell apart and she was gasping against his mouth, her body rocking under his weight.
"Ah- I'm- again- I can't-"
She came. Quieter. A caught breath, her body arching off the floor, her legs locking around him and squeezing, her walls clenching in waves from head to base. The squeeze pulled him over. He buried himself deep, hips flush against hers, and came inside her with his face pressed to her neck. He felt himself pulse, hot, filling her, and she gasped at the warmth and her body clenched around him again, her heels pulling him deeper, keeping him there.
He didn't move.
Her breathing slowed against his ear. Her hands went limp on his back. Her legs unlocked from his waist and fell to the floor on either side of him, boneless. He could feel himself softening inside her. The mess between them, warm, slick, leaking out around him.
He stayed. His weight on her. Her heartbeat against his chest, fast, slowing.
She laughed. A small one. Exhausted.
"Not bad," she said. "For a guy I met during a B and E."
He pressed his mouth to her collarbone. Tasted salt.
His system was pulsing behind his eyes. Notifications. LP gained. Partner registered. First sexual encounter bonus. Affection tracker updated.
He didn't open it. He didn't look.
Her fingers were in his hair, slow, scratching his scalp. Her breathing was evening out. The broken window let cold air in across the floor and goosebumps rose on her arms and he pulled the catsuit over her shoulders.
"Charming," she murmured. Her eyes were closing. "Using my own suit as a blanket."
"It was right there."
"Mm."
Her hand stopped moving in his hair. She was asleep. One second awake, the next gone, her face slack, mouth open. He was still half on top of her, still inside her. The floor was cold. Glass in her hair. A bruise forming on his shoulder where she'd bitten him.
He watched her breathe. Her chest rising. The mascara smeared under her left eye. Her lips swollen.
The LP bar pulsed.
He didn't check it.