Filling Her Neglected Ass with BBC

Isaiah paces around the kitchen while Veronica scrubs a plate. He can’t stop thinking about the way his dad leaves her alone night after night. She keeps saying she’s fine, but the tremor in her laugh says otherwise. When their eyes lock she forgets whatever comeback she had planned. The next breath, his hands are on her hips and her back hits the counter. She grabs his wrist, guides it under the waistband of her shorts and straight away says there’s one hole his dad never touches. Isaiah curses, feels himself twitch against his jeans. Veronica licks her bottom lip like she’s daring him to finish the thought. He scoops her up, carries her to the bedroom, kicks the door shut. The shorts are already gone by the time they hit the mattress. She folds forward onto all fours, pulls her cheeks apart and tells him again where she wants it. Isaiah spits into his palm, works the slick head of his cock right where she’s begged. She moans the second he pushes past that tight ring—slow, relentless, every inch sinking until his hips press flush to her ass. They don’t say a word after that, just the wet slap of skin, her breathy curses, his low grunts as he rides her until she’s shaking and full.