Don't Tell Him

Ambar's always had that flirty streak, but she kicks it up a notch today. She says he's gone, checks the door, then drops straight to her knees. She's working your cock with her mouth like she knows exactly how long you've been waiting for it. No teaser shit—just pure throat, spit running down her chin, hands gripping your thighs while she swallows more of you with each stroke. She pops up, still dripping, pulls you to the couch and climbs on top. The cowgirl ride is pure heat; she leans back on your legs so every inch disappears inside her, moaning loud enough that any louder and the neighbors would know. You flip her onto her back and drive into her hard, missionary style. Pinned, legs spread, she grips your forearms while you pound until the cushions squeak. Next she's on all fours facing away, ass up. Reverse cowgirl hits different—her curves on full display, grinding and bouncing, skin slapping sharp with every thrust. You grab her hips, push deeper, make sure she feels every inch. Doggy is last. Her face is in the couch, hair messy, ass jiggles every time you slam into her. Perfect rhythm, moans escaping despite her hand pressed to her mouth. You keep going until your nuts start to tighten. Right before the edge, you pull out and shoot hot ropes across her ass, thick stripes landing on her skin while both of you fight for breath. Neither of you move at first. Then she looks back at you, half-smile in place, and you both stay quiet. Like nothing happened. Except she's still dripping with your load and you both know the thrill's only gonna last until he gets home.