She knew someone was watching when she sat down on that couch. Pretended to flip through a magazine, legs slightly parted, heels dug into the carpet. He didn’t even knock—just walked right in like he owned the place. Her sweater rides up slow, fingers tracing his zipper before he buries himself deep between those thick thighs. Cock buried balls-deep, no foreplay needed. She arches back just enough for him to hit all the right spots while her tits jiggle against the armrest. When it hits, she bites her lip hard and tries not to scream—like this is some kind of secret they’re both keeping from everyone else.
