Peek through the bathroom door and you’d swear you weren’t supposed to see this: stockings clinging to thighs slick with tension, heels clicking against tile. She leans over the sink like she’s checking her makeup—except it’s his hands gripping her hips instead. Red lace cups sag under rough handling as he pins her down mid-mirror reflection, cock buried so deep in that pussy she whimpers every time he bottoms out. Glass fogs up but not from steam—from breathless gasps and a mouth half-open for something more than air.
