Happy Hole, Happy Girl

Emily Willis grinned sharp in the window light, mountain peaks hung behind her like teeth. Her lacy floral lingerie cupped skin that glowed in the dim. Michael Stefano drove into her, hips slamming, rutting her ass in hard, greedy strokes. Every thrust made lace slip, straps strain. She caught her breath, bit her bottom lip, and kept smiling like she wanted more. He gave it—deep, mean, relentless—grunting low as her knees buckled against the cold glass. Shadows stretched across the valley while the two of them tore through the quiet like it owed them something.