Scandalous

Scarlett Jones stopped pretending she cared who saw her. Paparazzi had trailed her from London to Rome, and now they waited outside her Tuscan villa. She slid the doors open, let the morning sun hit her bare tits, and gave them a clear view. One shooter lowered his camera. Christian Clay. She crooked a finger and turned away, hips rolling as she walked to the bed. He followed. Clothes hit the floor fast. She dropped to her knees, mouth open, sucking him deep while he grabbed her hair. Saliva ran down his shaft. She pulled off, climbed over him, swung a thigh across his face, and lowered her bush onto his tongue. He licked up into her while she took him back down her throat, bodies locked in a slow 69. Her moans came low and steady. She rocked against his mouth until her thighs shook. Then she climbed off, turned around, and sank onto his cock with her ass facing him. The stretch made her gasp. She rode him hard, every stroke pushing her open. When he slid out and pressed against her mouth, she took him in, tasting herself and him together, eyes half-lidded. She never looked toward the windows again.