Momentum and Skin

He drives deeper and she takes it, her legs tightening around his hips, the building's wall grinding against her spine. His mouth finds her throat and he bites down—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to leave a mark she'll find later. She arches into him, one hand tangled in his hair, the other pressed flat against the leather of his jacket, and the only sound is the wet rhythm and their shared breath in the empty lot.