Sin-hub
She sobs in her palm, the teardrops rolling.
“Harder,” he angles upward, causing her raised leg to be almost parallel with her body. “I love my ladies rough.”
His lips find a spot on her neck, just an inch from the collarbone, and he nibbles, tongue greedily latches on her soft, bare skin, licking off the glitter, and throbbing against her beating artery.
Sheryl loses it, heavy moans break off her beating throat, her head rocks back, giving him all the access he seeks. Her hand cups Clyde’s head, pressing his mouth on her skin, and her second hand runs up and down his back.