Morning's Rise

Sun's barely up and Falicha's already wet. She's walking the hallway in see-through white lace that barely covers her thick hips and heavy tits. No turning back now. She spots Jack sprawled out, eyelids half-closed, and licks her bottom lip like she's starving. Her hand drops straight to her panties, fingers diving inside while she stands in the doorway watching him. Can't wait another second. She climbs onto the mattress, straddles his chest, and plants a messy kiss on his mouth. Jack wakes up grinning because a curvy, half-naked woman is already grinding against his shorts. She slides down between his legs, yanks the fabric away, and gets her hands around his cock the second it springs free. Wet lips seal around the head, then she leans in and drags those big breasts up his shaft so he can thrust between them. Jack grunts, hips jerking; tit-fucking gets him every time. Heat's got her throbbing. She swings a leg over, grabs him at the root, and sinks down in one smooth drop until her ass sits flush on his lap. No easing in—hard rhythm right from the start, thighs slapping, her belly rippling, nipples brushing his chest when she leans forward. Jack grips those hips, rolls her onto her side, then flips her to doggy for a quick angle change before hauling her upright again, facing him, so he can watch every bounce. Falicha keeps taking everything—deeper, faster, wetter—until her body locks up and she rides out the morning like she owns it. Fuck coffee. This is breakfast.