Invite Trouble In. Stage Lights, #5

Evan could've grabbed Clara right there at the book club - shoved her against the fridge, yanked that skirt up, buried his face in her cunt till she screamed. He didn't. Not yet. The space between them shimmered with lavender and her heat, and the ache built low in his balls. From a living room to the woods where pine and sweat hang in the air and his hips piston like a runaway train, to a car wash that hums outside while they fuck inside with the windows fogging, to a Costa Rican yoga retreat where the jungle removes the audience and forces the question.
She says "find me later" with a smirk and an empty glass. He plunges his tongue into her slit against a tree trunk with no forewarning, no restraint. A thick-set guy in a store vest pops his head in and they freeze, the cloying smell of recent sex in the air.