A Question Of Terms

Eric's wiping his hands on a rag when Destiny tries to dodge payment with that sweet-talk invoice bullshit. He gets right in her face, keys in his hand, ready to make the call. Destiny clocks the trouble she's in and changes gears fast, offering him more than cash if he chills. She runs her nails up his arm, promising the kind of gratitude you don't mail in. Eric holds out a second but those tits fighting to bust out of her tank top, those legs going for days, and he pockets the phone. He follows her up the stairs. She strips off that tank slow, bare tits swinging free, nipples already hard. She drops to her knees, unzips him, and takes his cock in her mouth like she's got something to prove. Sloppy wet sounds fill the room while she works him, throat stretching around the whole length till her eyes water. He fucks her face, hips snapping, spit dripping down her chin. Destiny pulls off, panting, then climbs up on the bed, spreads her legs, and guides him straight inside that tight, hot pussy. He hammers her deep, the headboard knocking the wall, her moans getting louder with every thrust. Her wetness coats his shaft, her thighs grip him like a vise, and he doesn't even try to hold back. Eric pulls out, flips her over, drives back in from behind, hands clamped on her hips. Her ass jiggles with every smack. He fucks her till she claws the sheets, till her pussy milks him hard, then he grunts and blows his load across those perfect tits, ropes splattering up to her throat.