“Magpie” in The Big Book of Quickies

When he reaches between her thighs, she feels his bracelets sliding, scratching, rasping, rolling. Earrings glint when his shaggy black hair falls in his face, and her own hands ache to push it back. Not that she can reach so high right now. Earlier this afternoon, when he brought his head down and . . . oh, then . . .

Those are minutes she could stay in forever, his mouth at her clit, his hair between her fingers—but these are, too, when she feels him move inside her and watches, hears, somehow almost tastes the dance of the beautiful things he wears.