__She knew someone was watching.__ That’s why she didn’t stop. Blue tank top pulled up just enough to flash heavy tits as she straddles him on the couch—cushions sinking under her weight. His fingers dig into her waist while she grinds down hard, mascara already smudged from pretending not to notice. No lube. No foreplay. Just raw friction—her pussy clenching around his cock like it owns him. When he flips her over mid-thrust, those same hands yank at her hips and slam home so deep the whole couch shakes. __This wasn’t supposed to be shared.__ But now you’ve got front-row seats.
