She’s got that look—dark hair streaked gray, a full sleeve of ink crawling up her arm like secrets she shouldn’t tell. The bed’s unmade, sheets tangled where they’ve been at it for hours already. You weren’t supposed to see this: her straddling him, fingers digging into his shoulders as he buries himself deep between those thick thighs. First it’s just her mouth—pink and wet—but then he pushes harder, and suddenly there’s nowhere else for it to go but through. Her nose flares every time he bottoms out; mascara smudges under eyes that stay locked on yours like she knows you’re watching.