She couldn’t wait another second. The moment he walked in through the sliding glass door, heavy-breathing and already wet between her thighs, she yanks his belt open. No foreplay—just desperate hips slamming down onto his cock while the city lights blur outside. Green lingerie rides up past thick thighs as she rides hard enough to shake the cushions. Tattoos flexing, mascara smudged, she lets out a broken moan when he pins her against the armrest. Then—the switch—she turns around bareback, takes it doggy-style with one hand braced on the wall like this is just another Tuesday night. No lube needed. Just raw hunger.
