Falling Hard For Stassi Rossi

Stassi Rossi jogs like she owns the sidewalk. Every stride screams trouble. Stirling Cooper clocks her—long legs, tight ass—and he should have kept moving. Instead he spins for a second look and eats pavement. She hears the thud and jogs back. Not her problem he fell, yet she feels a twist of guilt. She offers her place down the block, voice low and cool. Inside, the door barely shuts before she shoves him onto the couch. She strips off her tank, sweat-slicked tits bouncing free, and straddles his hips. Her shorts come down next, pussy already wet and bare, and she grinds against the hard length straining his shorts. He grabs her ass, spreads her open, and she sinks onto his cock in one smooth thrust. She rides hard, nipples brushing his mouth, hips snapping in brutal rhythm. He thrusts up to meet her, balls slapping skin, sweat dripping between them. She moans when he grips her throat and bucks deeper, pounding into her until the couch creaks. He flips her onto her back, pins her wrists, fucks her with short, savage strokes until she comes clenching around him. He pulls out, strokes once, twice, and paints her stomach with thick ropes of cum.