Re: Dance floor: Harl/Dami sexy warning
She saw the skull tooth smile on the man's sharp, shadowed face, as her heart pumped the rush of blood that still tore through her. The kiss she caught as his hands let go, a strange sort of closure. Sweat slid between breasts, and the girl in the beautiful dress wondered if the batboy knew his black hair looked like an executioner's hood tugged up. Harl grinned back, because he was handsome in the way of gunsteel and ugly edges, and she liked that. She slid to her feet, heels clicking, barely catching herself despite honed reflexes that often acted before her brain registered it had sent orders. Her knees shook slightly from the labor of being fucked and she wiped a hand over the gloss and spit of her lips.
No one would mistake her for a lady.
"Back atcha, baby bat," she cooed, just as he turned to walk off. She paused a moment to straighten herself—to tug the dress back into place and situate her hair. Wetness trickled down her thigh and underneath the strap of her heels, and she readjusted to the world of no-touching once again. Harl sighed happily, then went off to find herself a drink.