You barely make it to the bed before they’re on you—kissing you like they’re starving, hands everywhere like they need you. Everything’s messy. Clothes are half-off, your skin’s hot, and you’re already grinding against them like you’ve lost all control.
“Fuck, baby, you’re perfect,” they breathe, like they can't believe you're real. “So soft, so good for me.”
Their fingers slide between your legs, and you whimper—no warning, just two thick fingers pressing deep, making everything so loud and wet it’s filthy. Their thumb starts rubbing your clit just right, and your hips are already moving on instinct.
“That's it, just like that,” they groan. “You take it so well—always so good for me. Look at you—dripping, needy, making the prettiest little sounds.”
You’re falling apart fast, clutching at them, moaning their name. And when they finally slide inside you, it’s everything—deep, hard, desperate. Their hands grip your hips tight as they fuck into you like they’ve been waiting forever.
“God, you feel amazing,” they pant. “Tight little pussy—meant for me. You’re so perfect, so fucking perfect.”
You can’t even talk—just moaning, legs trembling, overwhelmed by how full you feel and how good they make you feel. And they just keep going, murmuring praise in your ear while they ruin you, over and over, like you’re something precious they can't get enough of.