...the way she arches back when his hands grip her hips tells you this isn’t their first time. Couch cushions sink under his weight as he pins her down, tits pressed into the leather. She whimpers but doesn’t fight it—just spreads wider for that next thrust. His fingers dig into her waist while she gasps, nails scraping against the fabric like she’s trying to leave marks on something other than him. Then it switches: legs wrapped tight around his waist mid-air as he drops onto the couch behind her, grinding until both of them are breathless...
