Playboy Morning Show - Episode 258

She wraps her fingers around him. Her grip firm, practiced. His cock twitches at the contact, already half-hard from anticipation. She strokes once, slow and deliberate, thumb dragging over the head to catch the bead of pre-come that gathers there. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. Her other hand presses flat against his chest, feeling his heartbeat stutter. She lowers her mouth and takes him in. Wet heat. Tongue flat beneath him. She swallows him down until her nose brushes his stomach, then pulls back with a slow drag of lips. Spit glistens along his length. She does it again. And again. He tastes clean, faintly salty. She hums around him just to feel him jerk against her tongue. His hand finds her hair, not pushing, just holding. Grounding himself. She hollows her cheeks and sucks harder. A low sound rumbles from his throat, half groan, half praise. When she pulls off, a strand of saliva connects her bottom lip to the flushed head. She wipes it away with her thumb, then licks it clean. His eyes track the motion like he's starving. She climbs into his lap, knees bracketing his hips, and sinks down onto him in one smooth motion. They both exhale at the same time. Full. Tight. Perfect fit. She rocks her hips in slow circles, grinding down to take him deeper. Every roll of her body pulls a different sound from him. She leans forward, hands braced on his shoulders, and rides him harder. Skin slaps against skin. Sweat beads at the small of her back. His fingers dig into her hips hard enough to bruise. She welcomes it. Wants the marks. He flips them suddenly, pressing her into the mattress, and drives into her with purpose. Each thrust knocks the breath from her lungs. She wraps her legs around his waist and meets him halfway. The headboard knocks against the wall. Neither of them cares. Her nails rake down his back, leaving red lines in their wake. He curses against her neck, teeth grazing her pulse point. She comes first, clenching around him, back arching off the bed. The sight of her falling apart drags him over the edge right after. He buries himself deep and stays there, pulsing inside her. They breathe together in the aftermath, bodies still joined, skin slick with sweat. His forehead rests against hers. She runs her fingers through his damp hair. Outside, the city keeps moving. In here, time has stopped.