Busted

Sam wipes her grease-stained fingers on a rag as Max steps into the garage. Her tank clings to her chest, damp with sweat. Max watches the muscles shift in her forearms, the faint line of grease across her collarbone, and feels his cock twitch. He pushes her inside, hand low on her stomach, and kicks the door shut. In the bedroom her Hitachi lies out on the mattress, purple, the fat head already warm from the afternoon sun. Max doesn't ask. He flips it on and presses it between her thighs through her shorts. The vibration cuts straight to her clit, her knees going soft. She shoves her hand down his jeans, wraps her fingers around his cock, and pumps him once, twice, matching the toy's pulse. He drops his mouth to her neck, bites, drags her tank up so her tits fall free. She moans when his teeth find her nipple. The toy works in tight circles over her clit while she works him in long, slick strokes until they're both breathless and grinding against each other's hands.