She knew someone was watching. Redhead with heavy thighs and a smirk spreads them wide on the couch, black lace stockings already half-torn. Starts slow—hands gripping his shoulders—but then arches back, letting out a breathy moan that says this isn’t for show. His fingers dig into her hips as she rides him harder, cushions sinking under their weight. The door’s cracked open just enough to catch it: her nails scraping down his chest before she pins him flat and takes over. No warning when she grinds down until he spills inside her—messy, sloppy—and still doesn’t stop moving.
