A Real Consolation

Tommy sits alone at the bar, phone dark, shoulders slumped. She left him and his chest still aches. Isabella De Santos watches from the far end, brown hair loose over her shoulders, tits full beneath a low-cut top. She brings him a fresh drink and lingers, voice low and warm. Her hand settles on his thigh, squeezes once. He doesn’t pull away. Isabella leans in, lips brushing his ear. The kiss that follows is slow, deep, hungry. She leads him to the back room, strips off his shirt, takes hers off last. Her breasts spill free, heavy and dark-nippled. Tommy’s cock is already hard when she sinks to her knees. She sucks him wet and steady, tongue swirling, spit glistening down her chin. He groans, hands buried in her hair. Isabella rises, bends over the leather couch, and Tommy pushes inside her from behind, her pussy slick and tight. Her moans echo off the bottles. She turns, spreads wide on the cushions, lets him pound her deep. When his breath stutters she drops to her knees again, eyes locked on his as he strokes over her face. Thick ropes land across her lips, her cheeks, her lashes. Cum drips down her jaw while she licks him clean, smiling softly. The ache in Tommy’s chest is gone, replaced by the heat still humming through both of them.