Your Boyfriend Wont Do That - S3:E8

Lena slams the door so hard the framed photo jumps. Her face burns—her own boyfriend turned down between her thighs again. Same lame excuse, same limp-dick silence. She storms past the living room couch, but Emma’s already lounging there, bare legs tucked under her, smirk loaded like a cocked gun. “Still nothing?” Emma asks, voice low, eyes already tracing the rise of Lena’s skirt. Lena kicks off her heels. “He won’t even kiss it. Says it’s ‘not his thing.’” Her laugh comes out jagged. “Like my cunt’s optional.” Emma rises without a word, crosses the space in two strides, and presses Lena back against the wall. Her fingers slip straight under that skirt, find heat and slick folds and part them like it’s her name on the lease. Lena’s breath snags—sharp, greedy. Emma drops to her knees right there on the hallway rug, tongue already gliding through wet, swollen lips, slow circles turning quick and ruthless. Lena fists Emma’s hair and holds on, thighs shaking, the quiet slap of tongue against cunt mixing with the ticking clock down the hall. Every lick slices through weeks of frustration like a knife through silk. Lena grinds down, desperate, gasping every time Emma sucks her clit and lets it pop free, wet and oversensitive. No permission asked. No apology offered. Just raw, wet pleasure delivered exactly where Lena’s boyfriend left a void—and Emma fills it without blinking, eyes locked upward, drinking every tremor she pulls from Lena’s body.