With a hiss of frustration, she took one look at the back of his head, shoved the gun in the front of the jeans she wore and grabbed the tie with her ...ther hand. It was ripped from between her fingers, his body twisting so fast she barely had time to blink before seeing the rage in his eyes. His fist smashed into her face even as she fumbled to get to her gun and she fell backwards, hitting the cold cement hard. It knocked the wind from her, sent her skidding back along the hard cement until. " He no longer needs to encourage her. She's becoming more aggressive with each measure of their music. Pressing him further into herself. Pressing her limits. Pressing her performance. She begins to moan in time with their movements, just as he's deepest within her. His hands hover over her head like a conductor at the podium. His fingers splay with each of the deepest thrusts. He clenches his teeth and breathes heavily through parted lips. He can feel her moans deep in her throat as well has. More

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