Peeking through the half-open door of a guest room you weren’t supposed to see: beige curtains fluttering, sheets tangled on a cheap motel bed. Her back is turned but the torn lace gives it away—already soaked before he even touched her. One hand braced on the headboard, ass flexing with each grind as his fingers dig into her hips. The sound of wet slaps fills the silence between them. She knew someone was watching. The way she arches when he flips her onto her stomach—the way those thighs splay wider than they should—it’s not an accident anymore. Panties ripped clean off at this point; just skin against sheets, legs shaking every time he bottoms out in that tight heat.
