Sahara Skye's Post Fight Seduction

Jax had one eye on the fights when Sahara stepped in, hungry. He told her to chill, the round wasn’t finished. She waited, legs crossed, then the bell rang and her bare feet found him. She rubbed slow circles across his shaft until the fabric strained. He let her. Her toes gripped, slid, twisted, and he swelled thick against the pressure. When she dropped to her knees, her tongue dragged up the underside, lips sealed tight, throat opening inch by inch until he hit the back. She pulled off slick, climbed into his lap, and sank down hard. She rode fast, thighs slapping, voice breaking every time she bottomed out. Her walls clamped; she came shaking, nails digging into his shoulders. Jax flipped her, grabbed her ankles, slid between her arches, thrusting until her toes glistened. Then Sahara crooked both feet, toes pulling him down, guiding his head between wet folds again. He drove in deep, hammering until the couch creaked. She came twice more—sharp, sudden—before he pulled out and painted her lips, chin, lashes with thick ropes that slid down her face.