Road Queen #21

She straddled him like he owed her money, sank down until the sweat off her skin dripped and hit his chest in hot little spots. His cock was already buried deep—thick, angry-red, veins twitching under her slick grip. She didn’t ride so much as use him, hips rolling forward, then back, then grinding until the wet slap of flesh filled the room every time she dropped. His hands clamped her waist, holding tight enough to leave bruises, but she slapped them away. This was hers tonight. A drip of spit fell from the corner of her mouth; she caught it with her thumb and smeared it over her own nipple until it glistened. The bedframe shook. Breathing turned ragged. When he tried to thrust up she bore down harder, pinning him flat. He growled—low, rough—like something caged. She laughed once, throaty and mean, and kept fucking until his spine arched clean off the mattress and her own thighs shook so bad she could barely keep upright.