She knew someone was watching. That smug smirk when she caught him peeking through the crack in the door—then spread wider as his cock buried to the hilt inside her. No foreplay, just raw hunger: legs wrapped around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders while she whimpers like a girl half her age. The bed frame groans under each sloppy thrust, her tits bouncing free from that loose tank top. When he flips her onto all fours and grabs those hips hard enough to bruise? She begs—‘Don’t stop… fill me up’—while one hand slips down between them to finger herself alongside every deep stroke.
