Her eyes half-lidded, lips parted in that slow, knowing smirk. She knew someone was watching. But when the younger guy pulls out his cock and lines it up with her tight little hole? No hesitation—just a breathy gasp as he slams home. Skin slapping skin, fingers digging into the mattress beneath her. Bent over the armrest of some cheap couch (the springs dig into her ribs), she rocks back against him like a damn pro. ‘Harder,’ she whispers—not begging, just stating it like an order. Then she turns around suddenly: ‘You think I’m done?’ And flips onto all fours for round two.
