Sneak into her bedroom through the half-open door—pink walls, cheap metal bedframe, that floral-patterned rug. She’s already half-naked in a ripped bikini top (still tied at one shoulder), legs spread over your lap before you even sit down. That tongue? No mercy as it drags up your thigh, fingers digging into your ass like she owns it. The way her hips rock when she takes you deep—no panties, just wet heat gripping you tight—you can hear her breath hitch every time you hit that spot inside her. Then the dirty talks: ‘You’ve been staring at me for weeks,’ whispered right before those full lips wrap around you again.
