Cooking up something naughty

Erica and Csoky tangle in the kitchen. No mixing bowls or aprons. Just that raw, hungry look that says they’re about to skip straight to dessert. He plants her over the table, skirt already bunched at her waist, and eases his cock—thick, heavy, and hot—into the tight ring of her ass. She bites her lip, pushes back, and the stretch is slow, greedy, perfect. Once he’s buried, he doesn’t wait. He grips her hips and starts driving, each thrust deep and steady, the wet slap of skin echoing off the tile. Erica’s smooth cheeks spread wide for him, taking every inch like it was built for nothing else. She moans, low and filthy, urging him faster, harder, until the table creaks beneath them and her body clenches in greedy pulses around his shaft. He keeps pounding her open, the hard rhythm she craves, sweat slipping down the small of her back, until the kitchen smells only of sex and need.