I Am Riley, Scene #03

Riley’s fresh to Katrina, and both girls know it. Angela strokes her slick, painted fingernails down the newcomer’s ass. ‘You are fresh pussy for us!’ she laughs. Riley flashes that million-dollar smile. ‘And butthole,’ she whispers, already hooking two wet fingers between Katrina’s pale cheeks. The three beauties trade tight lingerie and matching grins while Bree Mills clears the set. Nerves evaporate when the last wrap of lace hits the floor. Oil glistens across every curve—round tits, full hips, rippling abs—so smooth that fingers skate instead of drag. They slide together in a heat-slick knot of legs and mouths, no art, no posing, just open tongues and grinding hips. Riley’s voice comes out thick. ‘Big names… we’re not checking one another, not calculating. We just want it.’ Angela answers with a low moan; Katrina answers with teeth on her neck. Every thrust of hips pumps new lube into flushed skin and sighing holes, and the only sound that lingers is wet skin slapping until the three of them tighten, shudder, and finish like they never had any doubt.