Emily's laugh was a razor wrapped in silk—low, slow, and deliberate, like she was savoring the taste of something rotten. "Aw," she crooned, her fingers walking down my stomach before wrapping around my cock, her thumb swiping the tip of my cover over the condom, which could burst any moment.
"Did I hit a nerve?" Her grip tightened, just shy of painful, her nails grazing the underside where I was most sensitive. " Is it just anger? Or Something else."
She guided me to her entrance, her pussy lips already glistening, swollen from anticipation. The head of my cock caught against her clit, and she rolled her hips, grinding against me with a wet, obscene sound—squelch—her breath hitching.
"Maybe if you weren't so uptight," she whispered, her lips brushing my ear, her voice a poisoned honey, "you'd know what it feels like to have a real man between your legs instead of some sad, limp—"
BANG!
