A tight green lace bra strains against Abi James’s ample curves as she perches beside Drizzy, his red suit jacket and turtleneck screaming luxury while his eyes lock onto her with pure hunger. The banter dies fast—his hands are on her thighs, pulling her close, the fabric of her lingerie already forgotten as he shoves it aside. She drops to her knees without a word, taking him deep into her mouth while he grinds against her tongue, moans ripping from his throat. They crash onto the white couch; he’s shirtless now, tattoos glistening under the studio lights as he flips her over and slams inside from behind. Her ass bounces hard against his hips with every thrust, skin slapping skin in a wet rhythm that fills the room. He pulls out just long enough to flip her again—she’s on top now, riding him hard, nails digging into his chest as he grips her waist and pounds up into her from below.
