She knew. Black lace over her eyes, lips parted in a silent gasp as his hands grip her hips—harder than before. Purple comforter bunched under thick thighs, ass up for whoever’s peeking through the door. First it’s slow, fingers digging into flesh while she whimpers into the fabric. Then—no warning—he flips her onto her back and buries himself deep between those heavy tits. She arches off the bed with a choked moan (not gagging this time), nails scraping his shoulders like she’s marking him for later. Legs wrap around his waist mid-pound; creases of fat jiggle with every slam against that mattress frame.
