They do

The elevator’s silence was a coffin lid on restraint. No voices from outside. No alarms. Just the low hum of stalled machinery and the thunder of blood in their ears.

Emily’s hands moved with a purpose that bypassed thought. She tore her cardigan off first, letting it drop to the elevator floor. Her tank followed, yanked over her head with a jerk, leaving her completely bare from the waist up—her breasts full and flushed, nipples already tight and swollen. Mark stared, breath caught in his throat, as her hands slipped down to her skirt and slid it off her hips, kicking it away with her flats. Her panties were soaked, translucent with arousal, clinging like second skin as she peeled them down her legs and tossed them aside.

He was already undoing his belt, breathing hard. She dropped to her knees before he could finish.

Emily looked up at him, hair mussed, lips parted.

“You want this?” she murmured, already pulling his cock free, stroking him once, twice.

His answer was a grunt—****, guttural.

She took him into her mouth.

Hot and heavy, he slid between her lips, and she sucked with slow, wet precision—just the head first, swirling her tongue around the crown, tasting pre-cum. Then she slid deeper, her cheeks hollowing as she bobbed her head, using both hands to stroke what her throat couldn’t take. Her eyes never left his face.

Mark groaned, one hand tangling in her hair. “Fuck—Emily…”

She pulled off with a wet pop, strands of spit still connecting her lips to his cock, now glistening and rock hard.

“That’s better,” she breathed, standing.

She pressed herself to him—naked chest to chest, breasts crushed against his bare skin, her body flushed and humming. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and lifted her in one smooth motion. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck.

Then he pinned her to the mirrored wall.

Their mouths collided—open, messy, hot. He didn’t tease. Didn’t align himself with careful restraint. He just thrust.

His cock drove deep into her slick heat in a single stroke that made both of them cry out—hers higher, sharp; his low and brutal. Skin slapped hard. Her back arched as her tits bounced against his chest with every thrust. Their bodies crashed together like they were trying to fuck pain out of existence.

Emily clung to him, her breath a torrent of gasps, moans, snarled curses. Her nails scored across his shoulders, her mouth hot against his ear.

“Take me,” she whispered. Her voice shook, guttural, raw. “Take what was his.”

Mark lost it.

He slammed into her with reckless ****, hips bucking, cock driving deeper with every wet smack of their bodies. Sweat streaked down his spine. Her moans filled the box, louder than the air vents, louder than her conscience.

His lips found her throat, sucking bruises. Her nipples dragged against his chest, overly sensitive, hard as glass. Every thrust made her bounce up the wall, her wetness dripping down the insides of her thighs.

She was close again—too fast, too intense, burning from the inside out. Her hands tangled in his hair, her teeth biting his neck.

“Fuck, Mark—yes,—don’t stop—please—”

He growled, slamming her into the mirror, and that was it. Emily shattered.

She came around him in convulsing waves, her voice breaking into a moan that bordered on a sob, her cunt milking him with greedy, pulsing heat.

Mark gasped, grabbed her ass hard, and buried himself to the hilt with a shuddering cry, cock twitching as he came deep—hot, thick, flooding her, his cum spilling back around him with every jerking grind.

They stayed locked like that, frozen, twitching, coming down in gasps and trembling muscle.

Then slowly, shaking, they sank to the floor together, tangled in limbs, her head on his chest, both of them drenched in sweat and sex, breathless and stunned.

No words yet.

Only the sound of her heartbeat. And his. Still pounding. Still angry.