Oil Me Up 2

Anna de Ville, beautiful as ever, hovers over Jack with a bottle clenched in one fist and already skin glistening. She tips the oil over him in a slow, lewd ribbon—across chest, down belly, lower still. The thick liquid rolls into every ridge and dip, pools in the hollow of his navel, runs between his thighs. Fingers working, she smears it deeper, palms dragging down his ribs, over his cock, around his balls until every inch gleams under the low light. Jack’s breathing stutters, hips jerking toward her touch; she pins him with a knee and keeps rubbing, each stroke wet, obscene, and methodical. Oil coats her breasts where they drag across him, her nipples sliding hot and slick, leaving trails that glisten before she wipes them back onto his skin like it belongs to her now. The only sounds are the wet slap of her hands, the creak of the table, his cut-off groans. She never asks. She takes, spreading the oil until Jack’s entire body shines and he’s helpless, slippery, hers.