Peek through the kitchen doorway and you’d swear this wasn’t supposed to happen—her back arched against the cabinets, stockings halfway torn off as his fingers slide inside her wet pussy. The green bottle of lube on the counter? Not for cooking. She bites her lip when she hears footsteps, then winks like she’s been caught doing something delicious. Next thing you know, she’s straddling him on the couch, tits bouncing as he grinds into that tight little hole while she whispers filthy promises about creampies and ‘making sure it stays in.’ No foreplay here—just raw hunger.
