She owns him from the start—bends him over the couch like he’s hers to break. Thick fingers stretch that puckered hole before she even gets wet. ‘Take it slow,’ she lies, while her nails dig into his hips and her breath hitches at every thrust. No lube? Doesn’t matter. She moans louder when he hits bottom, then flips him onto his back and rides that cock like she wrote the manual. Ass slapping against skin, tits bouncing—she lets out a sharp gasp when he pins her wrists above her head. And all this time… she knew. Knew someone was peeking through those curtains.
