Play with her pussy

You didn't waste time with pleasantries. You pressed her back against the cold, tiled wall, the ceramic chilling her skin through the thin champagne silk. Your hands descended, gripping the hem of her dress with a firm, possessive strength. You bunched the fabric upward, the silk sliding over her thighs with a soft, whispering friction until it gathered around her waist. She gasped, her head lolling back against the tiles, her eyes fluttering shut as the cool air of the restroom hit her exposed skin.

You slid your hand beneath the lace of her panties, your fingers finding the drenched heat of her center. She was already slick, a testament to the tension you had built in the hallway. You began to play with her pussy, your fingers circling the swollen nub of her clitoris with a slow, deliberate pressure. You felt her thighs tremble, her stilettos scraping against the floor as she tried to find leverage against you. A low, guttural moan escaped her throat, a sound of surrender that echoed off the narrow walls.

Maya reached for you, her nails digging into the linen of your shoulders, pulling you closer as if she feared you might vanish. You could feel the frantic beat of her heart through her ribs, a trapped bird fighting to get out. You increased the pace, your thumb grazing her wetness in a rhythmic, demanding cadence that left her breathless. The curated beauty of the lounge was gone, replaced by the visceral, wet sounds of your exploration and the ragged gasps of a woman who had finally found a distraction powerful enough to drown out her own ghosts.