Sofa springs squeak under her ass as she slams down again and again. Tits bouncing, blonde hair whipping, her mouth open but no sound comes out—just guttural gasps. Fingers dig into his shoulders, nails scraping. Every thrust lands with a wet slap of skin. When he flips her, her back bows off the cushions, legs pinned wide. He pounds until her toes curl and the couch groans in protest. You can practically feel the sweat between them, the heat of her pussy clenching around him. What’s the last thing she remembers before her vision whites out? His cock buried to the root.
