Lesbian Triangles #09

She straddled him hard, thighs locked, breath catching with every grind. The old leather couch creaked under their weight. He gripped her hips like he was afraid she'd disappear. Sweat slid down her spine. Her tank top was already on the floor—forgotten—along with whatever was left of her common sense. His hand found the warm, slick heat between her legs and two fingers pushed inside like he was making a point, curling just right to drag a moan out of her throat raw and unfiltered. She fucked down onto him greedier with each thrust, clit grinding his palm, eyes half-lidded but locked on his mouth like she wanted to bite it. When she came she bit his shoulder instead—bit hard enough to bruise—body snapping tight around his fingers, shaking through it like she'd been holding that orgasm back for ten goddamn years.