Beauty and Grace

The guy worshipped the view from his usual seat. Her legs drew perfect circles in the air and something low in his gut answered every swirl. Fine so far, but a voyeur’s rush wears thin fast and he was already halfway to that point. He strolled out onto the boards. She let him, breath catching when his palm settled on the small of her back. A murmur slipped out of her, then another, louder, as his mouth found the pulse at her throat. The satin of her costume gave way to warm skin in one easy slide, and soon he had her thighs hiked high around his hips. When her heels dug in he felt it right down to his spine. The first thrust sank him deep; the second made her bite his shoulder and laugh at how fast the laugh turned into a groan. They rocked under the hot stage lights until nothing about “pure” or “untouched” made any sense, only slick heat, tangled limbs, and the soft wet rhythm of her feet locked snug at the base of him.