The rough grit of the brick wall dug into Rose's forearms; when this was over, there would be the rough lines of brickwork hatching the skin from wrist to elbow.
The Doctor's hands gripped her waist, his thumbs pressing hard into the small of her back, the skirt of her summer dress fluttering raggedly with the thrusting of his hips. Inside her, his cock stretched and teased. and the wet slapping was accompanied by a low groan from the Doctor, his fingernails digging into her hip.
Rose spread her legs a little wider, braced herself against him and pressed back as he thrust forward, driving him deep and rotating her hips. Raw pulsing pleasure arched through her and she bit her lip on a moan - the Doctor responded by slipping an arm around her waist and holding her to him as his pace became frantic. "Mine," he growled against her neck. The fingernails from his free hand raked down her stomach, slid slickly between her legs. "Mine."
"Doctor," she squirms against him. His arm is like a vice around her waist; the long fingers of his free hand brush her clit, alternating between delicate and deliberate strokes. Each breath ends on a , soft, panting cry that grows louder with the force of his movements. Her hands are going to be raw tomorrow. "Doctor!"
He suckles on her neck. One hard thrust, and her muscles give a warning flutter - he stutters a moment and then lets his head fall back and thrusts slowly, lazily, like he's savoring. Then it's his hands shoving her as wide as she'll go and one, two, three deep thrusts and she's shattering, screaming his name into the empty alley, while behind her he goes rigid, his teeth clamping into her neck to stifle his moan as he comes, shuddering, just for her.
The mark doesn't heal for weeks.