I didn’t tell him that I was probably ovulating. I didn’t tell him my mind was spinning out of control, desperate to have my insides flooded. But I’m sure he could sense it. I’m sure he could taste the urgency in my juices as we got hot and sweaty in the empty train station.
The man (I never learned his name) bumped against me after coming down the stairwell. It was late at night, and the place was empty. The trains delayed. He had a frenzied look in his eyes and a smile that won my raging heart. It didn’t take long before he had me pinned against a movie poster, groaning and growling as he wrenched down my pants. One hand squeezed my tit, the other massaged my ass as if he thought I was hiding something in there.
“I fucking love your ass,” he whispered in my ear.
My response was to moan for him, begging him to go harder. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and pressed my face against the wall. It felt so cold compared to my flushed cheeks, and I moaned again.