8
This girl. The way she talked. The way she was wiggling her lush a*s on the leather seat. He was going to consume her, lick her tight little p***y till there was nothing left but the smear of her come slathered around his mouth. Her lips, so close to his ear, were rapidly incinerating his willpower. Razing it to the ground. But he had to stay strong because she was messing with him. There was no way in hell, and he knew his way around hell, that this girl was dominant. He might let her play around a bit, let her frolic in the park like the fresh, new babe that she was. But when it came to the down-and-dirty deed, it would be her—hands, elbows, and knees—hitting the floor as he mounted her from behind.
Twisting around until his lips hovered above hers, he said, “Alright, little girl, I’
