Peeking through the crack of a half-open door—thick thighs gripping a man’s waist, lace stockings glinting under the light. She rides him slow at first, then faster, like she’s daring him to keep up. His hands grip her hips hard enough to leave marks while she arches back, tits spilling over his shoulder. The couch cushions muffle every moan but not the wet slap of skin against skin. Then—he flips her onto her back mid-thrust, pins those stockinged legs open wider than they’ve ever been pinned before. No lube needed when gravity does all the work for him. Ass hovering just above his cock next.
