Poor Little Shyla

He walked in like he owned the room, tall and quiet, the kind of presence that made her breath catch and hold. They kissed hard, teeth clashing, hands already yanking at each other's clothes. Her shirt flew open. His mouth found her nipples, sucking each one wet and hard, tongue flicking until she gasped. Pants came next, her jeans peeled off, panties with them. She sat on the edge of the bed, legs open, heat rising off her skin. His cock sprang out, heavy and thick. He shoved her onto the mattress. The bed creaked as he climbed over her, his body pinning her down. His cock pressed between her thighs, rubbing over the slick folds, not entering yet. Her cunt throbbed with each pass. She grabbed his hips, nails digging in. Finally he pushed in, stretching her, thick and deep, until he hit the very back of her. Every thrust came harder than the last. Sweat slicked their skin. She wrapped her legs around him, heels digging into his back, dragging him deeper. He fucked her steady and brutal, fast when she begged, slow when she shook. The slap of skin echoed off the walls. He flipped her, dragged her onto all fours, spread her ass open, and drove back in. Her moans turned into cries, breath breaking with each brutal slam. He held her waist tight, balls slapping against her cunt, harder, meaner, skin glossy and sticky under his grip. She reached between her thighs and rubbed her swollen clit until her body clenched around him, the orgasm ripping through her like a gunshot. He kept pounding, rideing her through it, growling low, sweat dripping down his back. Then he pulled out, spun her, forced her face down to his cock. She opened her mouth without thinking, took him in, tongue swirling over the head, tasting herself on him. He held her head, fucked her mouth in short, hard thrusts until his balls tightened and he spilled hot cum across her tongue, thick ropes that made her swallow every drop. They collapsed panting, sheets ruined, skin still burning, the aftertaste of sex thick between them.