Inferno

The minute Sunset Thomas steps into hell she grins like she just got caught with her hand in the cookie jar. It’s the same beat-up motel room where she used to sneak Peter in, and there he sits, legs spread, already hard. She’s shocked, but the heat licking up her belly says otherwise. His tongue finds her clit fast, gentle, knowing. Every swirl drags back every late-night hand-job in that shitty shower, every time she bit the pillow trying not to scream his name. Her fingers fist the sheets while her hips grind down on his mouth. She hauls his thick cock out and stuffs it between her lips. It’s salty, heavy on her tongue, and the dirtier it gets the more she sucks like she’s trying to pull his soul through the tip. Peter flips her, rams every inch inside in one shove. Her pussy swallows him greedy. She locks her ankles behind his ass and rides each thrust like she’ll die if it stops. He’s grunting in her ear, calling her that filthy little nickname she pretended to hate. Right when she thinks she’s about to black out from how good it feels, he yanks out, straddles her face, and pumps thick ropes across her cheeks, her lips, her lashes. Warm, sticky, everywhere. She licks what she can reach and smirks up at him like the wicked little sinner she is.