The Surf House Part 4

Ania spots Kristof staring off the deck, all that surf nostalgia shit still bouncing around his head. She doesn't waste time. Told him straight up she caught him sneaking off with the instructors more than once. Winked when she said it too, like she'd been keeping score. He's grinning, cock already half hard in his shorts. She drops the line that he's not touching the ocean again today, not on her watch. Instead she gets on her knees, tugs him free, and swallows him straight down like she's been planning it all week. Hands gripping his thighs, cheeks hollowing, tongue working every inch until spit runs down his balls. She pops off, catches her breath, and tells him the deck railing's about to get some new memories. He spins her around, hikes that short sarong over her ass, finds she's already slick between the cheeks. No easing in, just hard pressure until her tight little hole gives and he sinks deep in one thrust. Ania grunts, pushes back to meet him, knuckles white on the wood. He fucks her in steady, filthy strokes, skin slapping, every push driving deeper until the railing shakes. She reaches down to rub her clit in time, panting, moaning his name, demanding he doesn't stop until he's pumping cum straight up her ass. When he finally blows, hips jammed tight against her, the sun's still high and neither of them gives a damn about waves anymore.