I gripped her hips—hard, bruising, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just above her ass, guiding her, deepening the rotation until she sobbed, her pussy spasming, gushing a fresh flood of scalding slick that coated my cock, dripped from my balls, soaked the sheets in a puddle of ruin, the scent of her mother-juice overwhelming—sweet, salty, sinful, clinging to my skin like a brand.
Her hair fell forward, a curtain brushing my chest, tickling my skin, clinging with sweat, the scent of her scent—mixing with the musk of her arousal. I reached up, swept it back with one hand, fingers threading through the damp strands, pulling gently to arch her neck, expose her throat, the heat of her skin burning under my palm.
