Her hands–his hands–grabbed his waist,BJ Addicted yanking him onto her lap, and he straddled her, the torn pantyhose stretching as his knees sank into the bed on either side of her hips. Her head–his head–snapped up as the heels announced his arrival, and her eyes widened, then narrowed.

“What the hell are you wearing?” she demanded, his voice cracking with a mix of fury and disbelief.

Ken leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms under her chest, the blouse shifting to reveal more of the bra. She sure knew how to prepare a steak, and the pink juice kept flooding my mouth–the second pink juice for this day.

After we’d devoured the meat and talked about random subjects, Ashley came with a bowl of ice cream for us all. Her jeans were shoved down just enough, her cock still buried in him, and she hadn’t pulled out, hadn’t moved, like she was afraid to break whatever fragile thread held them together.