The novelty of the feelings were enough to keep her hot and eager, but when he grabbed her hair—fuck, she completely lost it. If she wasn't currently shedding her virginity in a public restroom etc., she might take a moment or two to examine what type of psychosis that gave her. But since, and she wasn't positive, there was a good possibility the phrase fuck—harder might have been uttered (or shouted) from her, she really didn't have the mental capacity to multi-task. Chest heaving, blood pumping as though it were fire, she didn't even feel the cramping of the position, the sweat-slicked skin still half-clothed, the unflattering light of the bathroom. No, she was far too crazed, for too mindless for that. Then, as though with a flip of the switch, she felt something building, the sensation like she was racing towards something. Her heart was hammering in her ears, and suddenly she was all but bucking against him. No matter the awkwardness of the angle or the relative impossibility of the movements, her hips demanded motion and she was helpless to stop the impulse. When the climax hit, she might have yelled from the sheer shock of it, but the stars dancing in front of her eyes from throwing her head back against the wall made it a little hard to discern much besides her own name. If that.
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