You Miss Being Inside Me?

Getting left on read stings like a slap. Peter's been hanging on Lila's mood swings before, but this time his girl goes cold, blue ticks pile up, phone screen black. Lila's already circling, wrapped in nothing except a white beach towel that keeps slipping off one hip. She leans against the door frame and smiles like she knows every dirty thought rattling in his head. Peter tries to stay straight. Not in the backyard, not when anyone could open the screen door. Lila just laughs, drops the towel, steps out of it like she's walking into a lake. "Remember how wet I get for you?" she says. That hits him low in the gut. His resistance cracks and splits. They crash together, mouths open, his tongue fighting hers. He grabs the back of her neck, pulls her close, sucks one pink nipple until she gasps and arches. She tugs at his waistband; his cock springs out hard, already leaking. He bends her over the patio table and drives into her in one hard push. She's tight and pulsing and loud, too loud for daylight. Peter fucks like he's trying to punish the silence from his phone. Lila braces on the wood, takes every slam, cums hard enough to shake the glasses. When he pulls out, she drops to her knees and swallows him to the root, drool running over her tits. He grips her hair and fucks her mouth until her eyes tear and she grins around him. Then she climbs on top, slides down slow, starts riding with sharp, greedy rolls of her hips. Peter watches her tits bounce, palms her ass, feels her clench again and again. Pressure builds hot in his balls. He groans, pulls her off and onto her back on the grass, pushes back inside for those last frantic strokes until he bursts, cock pulsing, cum flooding her tongue. Lila swallows it all and licks the head clean, never breaking eye contact, while the afternoon sun keeps watching.