There’s nothing soft, or sweet, or polite, or playful about what happens next.
Kent’s mouth is hard on mine, all tongue and teeth and frustrated rage. I meet him at every stroke, pushing him back against the wall and tearing first at his suit jacket, trying to push it off his shoulders – wanting to feel his skin, but not knowing if I want to tear it with my nails or feel it pressed on mine –
But then I decide, quite suddenly, that the suit jacket is a god damn waste of time and I push him, hard, so that he falls on his ass against the stone steps behind him. Kent gasps in pain as he lands, his anger flashing across his face as he glares up at me. He puts his hands down against the stone to thrust himself back up –
But he stops when he sees me pull my tank top up over my head, baring my
