Sex At Eight 1

The alarm’s still ticking when she shoves him down. Schedules be damned. Subil yanks Nick’s tie loose, strips his shirt, pops the button on his slacks before the suit jacket even hits the floor. Her skirt rides up; panties already soaked. She climbs on, thighs flexing, hand gripping his cock, guiding him inside with one quick drop. They fuck quick and mean on the edge of the bed—her hips snapping down, his hands bruising her waist, breath punching out each time she takes him to the hilt. Sweat beads on her collarbone, drips between her breasts, and she rides it harder because there’s never enough. She comes sharp, cunt pulsing around him, and keeps rolling, forcing him to spill hot inside her. The mess leaks down her thighs; she smears it in, pulls on fresh panties, straightens her dress. He watches, still catching his breath, as she glances at the clock like nothing happened. Dinner reservations. Board meeting. Another fuck squeezed somewhere in between. That’s the game. She plays it to win.