Rose Red
She called herself Rose Red, though the red that clung to her lips and nipples that night had less to do with petals and more to do with how hard she'd been working for it. Tyrell lay back against the headboard, legs spread, one hand lazily stroking the heavy shaft that rose from the thatch of dark curls between his thighs. Her knees bracketed his hips as she lowered herself. The blunt head nudged, then pressed, sliding in with a wet sound that filled the quiet room. She took him to the root in one slow descent, her cunt fluttering, grip slick and tight. He groaned, low in his throat, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her waist. She rolled her hips once, twice, finding her angle, then began to move in earnest. Each thrust drove her down hard enough to make her breath hitch, the slap of skin-on-skin broken only by the wet drag of her cunt swallowing him again and again. Tyrell's hand slipped between them, thumb pressing firm circles against her clit. She jerked, pace stuttering, a ragged moan spilling out as the pressure built. He watched her, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted. "That's it," he said, voice rough. "Ride it." She braced her hands on his chest and did, thighs burning, cunt pulsing around him until the climax hit—sharp, bright, a white-hot rush that left her shaking and gasping above him. Tyrell followed seconds later, hips bucking up hard as he spilled deep, pulse after pulse, the heat of it flooding her until it leaked out around his still-throbbing length. She stayed there, full and trembling, until the aftershocks faded and her breathing steadied. Then she leaned down, kissed him slow, and whispered, "Again."
Rose Red
She called herself Rose Red, though the red that clung to her lips and nipples that night had less to do with petals and more to do with how hard she'd been working for it. Tyrell lay back against the headboard, legs spread, one hand lazily stroking the heavy shaft that rose from the thatch of dark curls between his thighs. Her knees bracketed his hips as she lowered herself. The blunt head nudged, then pressed, sliding in with a wet sound that filled the quiet room. She took him to the root in one slow descent, her cunt fluttering, grip slick and tight. He groaned, low in his throat, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her waist. She rolled her hips once, twice, finding her angle, then began to move in earnest. Each thrust drove her down hard enough to make her breath hitch, the slap of skin-on-skin broken only by the wet drag of her cunt swallowing him again and again. Tyrell's hand slipped between them, thumb pressing firm circles against her clit. She jerked, pace stuttering, a ragged moan spilling out as the pressure built. He watched her, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted. "That's it," he said, voice rough. "Ride it." She braced her hands on his chest and did, thighs burning, cunt pulsing around him until the climax hit—sharp, bright, a white-hot rush that left her shaking and gasping above him. Tyrell followed seconds later, hips bucking up hard as he spilled deep, pulse after pulse, the heat of it flooding her until it leaked out around his still-throbbing length. She stayed there, full and trembling, until the aftershocks faded and her breathing steadied. Then she leaned down, kissed him slow, and whispered, "Again."