Simon’s hands slide up Kiere’s waist the second the door clicks shut. Kiere’s breath hitches, then she pushes forward, lips crashing into Simon’s. Their tits press together through thin cotton, nipples already hard. Simon works the buttons open one by one, slow enough that every inch of skin feels deliberate. Kiere arches back against the counter when Simon’s mouth drops to suck, pulling a nipple in deep, tongue flicking.
Kiere’s thighs spread without a word, shorts slipping down her legs. Simon drops to one knee. Two fingers ease between soaked folds, part them, then sink in. Kiere bites her own lip hard. The fridge hums; otherwise the kitchen stays quiet except for the wet, steady sound of Simon’s hand working deeper, curling on every pull.
Kiere reaches for Simon’s hair, pulls her up, spins her around. She drags Simon’s jeans open, shoves them low, then presses her bare cunt against the curve of Simon’s ass. Hips rock once, twice—testing—before Kiere drops her hand between Simon’s legs from behind. Simon grips the edge of the sink, knuckles white. The counter is cool against her stomach while Kiere fucks her with quick, confident strokes, thumb flicking her clit each time her fingers fill her.
They trade places again without asking. Simon hoists Kiere onto the table, legs wide. One breast in Simon’s palm, the other taken by her mouth. Fingers buried again—four, this time—stretching Kiere open until her head falls back and her thighs tremble. The fridge light cuts across Kiere’s stomach every time Simon thrusts. She doesn’t slow when Kiere’s cunt clenches; she just curls harder, sucking the swollen clit between her lips until Kiere comes with a short, guttural sound, heels digging into Simon’s back.
Simon stands, lips slick. Kiere catches her breath, then drops from the table and pulls Simon close, fingers still moving between Simon’s thighs. She keeps her other hand at the small of Simon’s back, holding her steady while she strokes her faster. Simon’s forehead rests against Kiere’s collarbone. When she comes, it’s quieter—one sharp exhale, hips jerking once against Kiere’s palm. They stay pressed together a moment longer, both breathing hard, kitchen still and warm around them.
Simon’s hands slide up Kiere’s waist the second the door clicks shut. Kiere’s breath hitches, then she pushes forward, lips crashing into Simon’s. Their tits press together through thin cotton, nipples already hard. Simon works the buttons open one by one, slow enough that every inch of skin feels deliberate. Kiere arches back against the counter when Simon’s mouth drops to suck, pulling a nipple in deep, tongue flicking.
Kiere’s thighs spread without a word, shorts slipping down her legs. Simon drops to one knee. Two fingers ease between soaked folds, part them, then sink in. Kiere bites her own lip hard. The fridge hums; otherwise the kitchen stays quiet except for the wet, steady sound of Simon’s hand working deeper, curling on every pull.
Kiere reaches for Simon’s hair, pulls her up, spins her around. She drags Simon’s jeans open, shoves them low, then presses her bare cunt against the curve of Simon’s ass. Hips rock once, twice—testing—before Kiere drops her hand between Simon’s legs from behind. Simon grips the edge of the sink, knuckles white. The counter is cool against her stomach while Kiere fucks her with quick, confident strokes, thumb flicking her clit each time her fingers fill her.
They trade places again without asking. Simon hoists Kiere onto the table, legs wide. One breast in Simon’s palm, the other taken by her mouth. Fingers buried again—four, this time—stretching Kiere open until her head falls back and her thighs tremble. The fridge light cuts across Kiere’s stomach every time Simon thrusts. She doesn’t slow when Kiere’s cunt clenches; she just curls harder, sucking the swollen clit between her lips until Kiere comes with a short, guttural sound, heels digging into Simon’s back.
Simon stands, lips slick. Kiere catches her breath, then drops from the table and pulls Simon close, fingers still moving between Simon’s thighs. She keeps her other hand at the small of Simon’s back, holding her steady while she strokes her faster. Simon’s forehead rests against Kiere’s collarbone. When she comes, it’s quieter—one sharp exhale, hips jerking once against Kiere’s palm. They stay pressed together a moment longer, both breathing hard, kitchen still and warm around them.
