Tan lines from last summer’s bikini still visible where her dress rode up. She knew he was there—the way her fingers tightened around his wrist when she pulled him onto the couch. Now she’s riding raw, thighs quivering, nails digging into his shoulders as if marking territory. Ass slapping against his hips with every grind, lips parted like she’s about to gasp someone else’s name but won’t dare… yet. The lamp flickers overhead like a guilty conscience while her tits bounce just out of reach—hard nipples brushing his chest every time she bounces. Didn’t expect this when you walked in.
