She lies there like she’s asleep, but her thighs are trembling. The guy doesn’t even try to be quiet—each thrust rocks the floorboards. Her dress rides up slow, exposing stocking-clad thighs and that wet heat waiting for him. When he flips her over mid-thrust, her face slams into the cushion with a gasp—but then she arches back harder. No foreplay needed here: just raw hunger. His hands grip those full hips like they’re gonna snap in half from how tight she clenches around him. She moans through it all, voice breaking when he finally pulls out and lines himself up again—this time deeper than before.
