Let's Make A Deal

The morning after the party, Layla’s head still buzzes. Mick shows up at the door, eyes on the mess, jaw tight. She stands in nothing but a towel, smile lazy. Words aren’t needed long. He pushes past, fingers closing on the soft swell of her ass, and she presses back, towel sliding to the floor. Mick drops to his knees like he’s been waiting all week. Tongue traces the cleft, then deeper, wet heat claiming what the night left open. Layla grabs the table edge, breath hitching when he stands and rubs the head of his cock against the same slick ring. He pushes in slow. Every inch drags a moan from her. She reaches back, strokes him where they meet, then brings her fingers to her mouth, tasting herself on him. He pulls out, feeds her the same cock, lets her lick it clean before sinking back inside. The angle shifts. She climbs over him on the sofa, big ass spread, sinking down until her cheeks slap his thighs. Up and down, slow at first, then hard enough to shake the frame. He grabs a handful, spreads her wider, watching himself disappear again and again. She leans, spins, takes him straight from her ass to her tongue once more. Spit runs down his shaft. He groans, grips her hair, pushes deeper. Layla swallows, eyes glassy, ass still empty and wanting. When she turns again, he drives up into her from below, pace turning sharp. The room smells like sex and last night’s spilled drinks. She rides until his breath breaks, until her thighs shake, until the deal is settled with every wet slap and every greedy swallow.