Anarchy Rising

Alby moves through the world without handcuffs. No rules. No chains. Just impulse. Today that impulse lands on Danny, and she wastes no time taking what she wants. Her lips part first. She drops to her knees and takes him deep, tongue working slow then faster, drawing every inch of him into the wet heat of her mouth. Black hair spills across her shoulders as she swallows him whole. When she rises, her hand guides him between her thighs. She sinks down hard, rides him with short, hungry strokes that leave her slick and gasping. The ink on her skin stretches with each thrust. Then she pulls back, settles her feet around his cock. Her toes, long and precise, grip and stroke, working him between the soft pads and the arch. Danny shudders under the pressure, every tendon tight. She keeps the rhythm steady, unhurried, until he breaks—thick ropes of release spilling over her painted toes and up her calves. She watches him come apart and smiles like she never expected anything less.