Fuck mates

Victor heard about the breakup and showed up with a bottle and easy eyes. Sandra opened the door already wearing nothing but a robe, and the past didn’t need explaining. They had never stopped anyway; she had only paused with her ex. She tugged him inside, the robe slipping off one shoulder as she pressed him against the wall. His hands slid down the warm line of her back while her mouth opened under his. She tasted like cherry lip gloss and trouble. In the bedroom the light was low and gold. She pushed him to the edge of the bed and went to her knees without a word. The zipper whispered. She took him deep, cheeks hollowing, eyes flicking up to watch him watch her. Her blonde hair spilled over his thighs in a soft curtain. He cupped the back of her head, not forcing, just keeping time. When she came up for air a thin strand still connected her lips to the flushed head of his cock. She stood, turned, and bent forward, palms flat on the mattress. He slid into her in one long, slow push that pulled a low sound from her chest. They moved like people who already knew the map: hips rolling, breath hitching, the wet slap of skin filling the quiet room. She came first, shoulders shaking, then he pulled out fast, painted the line of her spine and the curve of her ass with thick, white streaks. Sandra stayed bent, smiling into the sheets while the warmth cooled on her skin. Victor traced a lazy finger through the mess, and she shivered, already thinking about round two.