you're dirty and you're sweet

When he enters her it's with a single thrust, almost angry, and this time her cry isn't muffled. It rasps in her throat, her body arching, but he cups a hand against the back of her head and forces her down, her cheek against the rough grain of the table. Grit against her lips. She smells oil and wood shavings, and him as he pounds into her, using both hands on her hips to practically lift her off her feet. She feels droplets of his sweat falling onto her bare back, her arms already aching from how they're bound behind her, and she knows she's going to hurt in a lot of places later. She grins against the tabletop and she thinks not a Good Girl, no. Filthy side of this.