“Jesus—” he groaned, head falling back. “You feel so f*****g good.”
I moaned when he thrusted up. I steadied myself by fisting the back of hair and grabbing his shoulder.
“f**k,” he bites out, eyes closed. “You’re so tight. So f*****g wet.”
“Because you feel good inside me.” I let out loud moans, not caring that cars were still plying the road in front.
I rocked my hips, slowly at first, moaning at the fullness. He was big, thick, and perfect. My hands pressed to his chest for balance, and I started riding him the way he liked—deep, slow grinds that made his fingers dig into my skin and his lips open and close without any words. Just breaths.
I increased the tempo and began to ride him hard, without shame, our bodies slapping, the leather seat squeaking under us. His hands grip my
