Through the door of her living room, she pretends to fold laundry while he slides into her from behind. Red cushions soaked through as she rides him hard on that same couch where they’ve been ‘just friends.’ Hair in curlers? Doesn’t matter when his hands are gripping those thick thighs. Then—she turns around, grabs his face, and takes it deep down throat right there on the sofa. No lube needed for this one. Stockings ripped mid-thrust as he flips her onto all fours—cracked door frame barely holding back the neighbors’ prying eyes. She moans louder when he pulls out just enough to tease before slamming back in so deep you can hear it across the hall.
