She’s wearing nothing but a face mask and confusion as he yanks her onto that tarp like she’s already his. Green paint smeared on her chest from whatever she was doing before this happened—maybe painting? Maybe not. Doesn’t matter now because his hands are all over her, fingers digging into bare skin while she scrambles to get those shorts off fast enough. No teasing. No buildup. Just raw hunger—the kind that doesn’t ask for permission, just takes what it wants. She’s on all fours first, ass up like some animal heat between her legs already dripping when he slaps it hard enough to leave marks.
