The bouquet quivered in its crystal vase, petals trembling with every rock of the Rolls, their delicate scent a fragile whisper against the thick, animal reek of sex that now owned the cabin. Madison melted back against his chest, bare skin slick with sweat, her spine a perfect curve as she settled her weight into him.
Her ass—round, flushed, still bearing the faint red ghosts of his palm—nestged between his thighs like it belonged there. His cock, half-hard and glazed in their mess, jerked awake the instant her heat pressed down, a thick, hungry pulse that made her laugh, low and filthy.
She reached between her legs, fingers curling around his shaft—still tacky with cum and cream—and guided it up. Her other hand spread her swollen lips wide; even in the dim gold light he could see the ruin: her pussy flushed dark rose, folds puffy and glistening, a slow, creamy river of his last load seeping from her stretched hole.
