She was supposed to be baking. Instead, she had that dress hiked up over her hips before he even realized what was happening. Blond hair messy from his fingers tangled there, tits pressed against his chest as she rides him slow at first—just enough to tease—then faster when he groans too loud. The kitchen lights flicker over gold balloons like they’re watching too. No warning, no hesitation: she knows someone might see through the window and it makes her squeeze tighter around his cock every time. When he flips her onto the countertop edge—ass exposed for anyone peeking—the creak of wood under their weight sounds like an invitation.
