Sorry "Bout That

Rob showed up expecting the same cold table and wandering hands, maybe some soft music and a tip on the dresser. Elle brought the twist. The second she opened the door in nothing but panties and a smirk, the polite pretense cracked. His mouth opened and nothing useful came out. She told him they could still pretend he just wanted his back worked, but she’d noticed how his eyes dropped straight to her ass and never came back up. Game on. Rob made it two steps inside before her hands were already inside his zipper, cock pulled free, already stiff. She pressed him against the wall, slid his length between her lips, and hummed around him. Saliva spilled onto the hardwood. He cursed low and mean and thrust anyway. She gagged once, eyes watering, then fought him for it, throat tightening until he buried his hand in her hair to hold her. Thick strings of spit hung from her chin as she broke off to strip her panties. She climbed the edge of the table on all fours, pushed back against him until he sank inside—tight heat and no patience, hips snapping sharp. Every stroke hit deep. Sweat ran between her shoulder blades. She ground back harder every time he paused, demanding more, taking it mean. Rob pulled her hair, spanked her raw, and she only arched deeper for it, chest crushed to the leather, ass bouncing, breath broken. He flipped her, drove back in fast while she clawed at his shoulders and wrapped her legs. The table rocked, condoms and oil jars crashed. Elle came first, voice cracking into a moan she tried to bite off. Rob followed seconds later, teeth against her throat, pulsing inside her in hot, hard waves that leaked past her thighs. They stayed locked a beat, breathing, then she smiled around his spent cock, licked the mess clean, and said the next appointment might have to be longer. He booked it before he even pulled his pants up.