Tan lines from old swimsuits still cling to her inner thighs as she arches back on the mattress, legs hooked over his shoulders. The scent of coconut oil lingers between them while he buries himself balls-deep—her nails digging into the sheets like this isn’t supposed to happen. She moans louder when he hits that spot behind her hipbone, then suddenly flips him onto his back with one hand wrapped around his throat. ‘You shouldn’t have been listening at the door,’ she whispers right before riding him so hard the headboard rattles.
