Thighs slick with spit and sweat, she starts on all fours—ass high, back arched—but the second his cock slides out, she flips onto her back mid-thrust. No warning. No break. Just a wet smack as hips meet and her legs wrap tight around his waist. Cock slams into dripping pussy while fingers dig into swollen ass cheeks. She gasps, nails scratch at his shoulders; he doesn’t slow down for air or mercy. Bedframe creaks like it’s about to snap, but neither of them cares—only the next thrust matters.** By the time he pulls out for a cumshot across her tits, mascara is ruined and both of them are breathing like they just ran a marathon.
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