It was a no-frills fuck, and it didn’t last long. She walked into the room, turned and flopped backwards onto the bed, a dirty smile ricocheting across her face. He leaped headlong onto her as if swan-diving into a pool. Not a single piece of clothing was entirely removed. His pants were around his knees; her skirt was hiked up to the waist. She tore open his shirt, buttons flying like popcorn. He took the time to actually unbutton her blouse only because it was one of her favorites, fashion temporarily trumping the extra few seconds lost in fumbling with the buttonholes.
– from J G Cain’s The Gravity of Desire