Son To Be

Codey Steele’s got the ring burning a hole in his pocket and he’s pacing the living room like some lovesick idiot. Phone glued to his ear, he never sees it slip—ping, the diamond disappears between the couch cushions. Now he’s ass-up, one arm shoulder-deep, trying to dig the thing out, when that little move wedges his hips tight and boom, he’s stuck for real. Then Lexi walks in, takes one look at him wiggling there like a present half-unwrapped, and laughs. “Well, damn, son-in-law-to-be,” she purrs. “Let’s see what you’re packing before you put a ring on my daughter’s finger.” She grabs his jeans, tugs them to his knees, and in two seconds flat his cock’s standing in her hand—thick, warm, already starting to pulse against her palm. Lexi gives it a slow stroke, spits on the head, watches the shine drip, then wraps those soft tits around him and pumps like she’s testing quality. Every time he moans her pace changes—fast, lazy, fast again—until the couch creaks and his whole body jerks. The ring can wait; right now Lexi’s milking him, balls tight, tip leaking, hips twitching, proving Codey’s packing exactly what she needs to sign off.