Braylin Bailey & Miami Davis

Miami showed up looking for any job going. Straight, sharp, never doubted it. The moment the blonde cut to the question about her man, heat flicked in the air. Nothing else got discussed. The woman lunged; Miami met the tongue, open, wet, pulled inside. Later, spread across the interview desk, her thighs shook while the same tongue worked deep between her swollen lips. Every slow, greedy lick dragged a new ripple up her spine. Curiosity melted into hunger. She slid off the desk, dropped to her knees, and parted the pale folds waiting for her. Salt, heat, a faint throb against her lips—everything crashed in at once. Taste became rhythm. Later still, leather straps kissed the blonde’s hips while the glossy shaft between them found Miami again. Each thrust pushed past fluttering muscle until the slap of skin kept time with her breathing. The strap kept its promise: hard, endless, exactly what she had gone without for months.