Susan grinds down against Janet's hand. This is the best part of sex: the point where she can lose herself unselfconsciously into the sheer pleasure and heat of it all, chasing the building ache and the feeling of utterly unspooling. Her hair, already tugged increasingly loose from its pins by Janet's roaming hands all evening, tangles across her face; she wipes it to the side by dragging her face across Janet's shoulder and latching on to her neck with a sharp, biting kiss.