He had each of her thighs tightly locked in the crocks of his arms. Her hair tickled his nose, she was warm and swollen against his lips. His tongue explored the little bump, pushed under the hood, and she twisted and squealed that it was too sensitive. He was relentless and pressed against the tiny entrance where it can never enter and the slit where it could, but never deep enough. His fingers moved slowly, steady, in and out, then up, up, up, against something he couldn’t make out but that made her thrash. His mouth, his hand, her jerks, they turned into something crazy and wild and it went on and on until her pelvis crashed into his face and she screamed and he came against the rug and then she went limp under him.