She knew someone was watching. Stockings halfway down her thighs, ass up over the chair like she’s been waiting for this all night. Blue jeans pulled down just enough—no panties left to ruin. First it’s slow, teasing thrusts while she bites her lip at whoever might be peeking through that cracked door. Then his grip tightens on her hips and the rhythm turns brutal: pounding until her nails scrape against wood. When he flips her onto the mattress with one hand still tangled in those ruined stockings? That’s when she finally looks toward where you’re hiding—smirking like this is exactly what you shouldn’t see.
