PAH! PAH! PAH!
"HAANGH~!! NNN— AAAHH~!!"
The table moved again.
Not two inches this time — four, the legs scraping tile in a raw, ugly sound that mixed with the wet, dense slap of his hips driving into the full softness of her ass, and Jennifer's face dragged across the table surface with each forward thrust, her cheek pressing the wood, her saliva making a slow, honest smear on the grain.
Both her wrists were locked in one of his hands behind her back.
The other hand had hooked into the bunched fabric of her skirt and panties — both gathered in his fist at her hip like reins — and he was using that grip to pull her back into each thrust, two points of leverage working in opposite directions, her own weight becoming part of the mechanism that was taking her apart.
'Ten minutes.'
The thought arrived with the clarity of a woman who tracks time automatically, who spent nineteen years where time was the variable that decided whether you lived.
'It has been ten minutes.'
