Prowling Cougar

Little Puck stands there with her pulse hammering against her throat. Ready for Tommy's hands. Ready for whatever he wants to do to her. The air between them crackles as she presses closer, her body already moving like she's starving for it. Tommy grabs her hard, fingers digging into flesh, and she moans without shame. He yanks her against him and she feels every inch of his hunger through his clothes. She starts unbuckling, unzipping, not gentle about it. She needs him in her, and she needs it now. When he slams into her the first time she gasps sharp and dirty. No warm-up. No sweet talk. Just the wet sound of him burying himself deep while she claws at his back and begs for more. He fucks her like he's got something to prove and she's got nothing to lose. Sweat slides between her breasts as he pushes her down, spreads her wider. Her hips snap up to meet every thrust. The rhythm gets brutal fast. Skin slapping skin. Her voice breaks every time he hits that spot inside her that makes her see white. He flips her over and takes her again without asking. She pushes back against him, desperate for it harder, deeper. Her moans turn to curses. The bed frame creaks like it's trying to keep up. Every inch of her feels raw and alive and used in exactly the way she's been begging for. Tommy's grip tightens on her hips as he gets close. She feels him twitch inside her, feels the way his rhythm starts to falter. She comes first—loud, messy, her whole body shaking. He follows right behind, filling her while she rides out the aftershocks, still moving, still hungry. They collapse in a tangle of limbs and heavy breathing. Neither of them is done yet.