She cried out as he shoved his middle two fingers unceremoniously into her drenched quim, not stopping to remove her knickers but merely yanking them to one side. He swallowed her next cry with another kiss, and the sizzling heat of it shuddered through her, so powerful that she nearly came from that alone. It was maddening, the pressure on her throat, the taste of him, the feeling of his fingers fucking her mercilessly against the wall. There was never enough time, she thought desperately, never enough time to slow down and enjoy or remember these frantic moments, just enough that she could experience them. She tried to focus on the little details—the smell of his cologne, the bump of the heel of his hand against her clitoris, the grit of the wall in the small of her back where her jumper had ridden up. 