...you weren’t supposed to see this. The door’s cracked just enough—thick blonde in a lace-trimmed gown, toes curled against the couch cushion, watching him watch her. She knows someone’s peeking through that gap but doesn’t stop. Two fingers slip inside herself slow, lips parted like she’s waiting for permission... or an excuse. Then she climbs onto his lap mid-sentence—nightgown riding up past her thighs—and takes it all without warning. No gagging, no hesitation; just wet heat swallowing him whole while one hand grips the back of the couch like it’s the only thing keeping her upright...
