Fuck around the clock!

Markus picks his girls like records—he slides them out of the stack and onto the turntable. Tonight the needle drops on Jalace. Shy little brunette with a boy-cut that ends at her jawline, she looks the kind of girl who keeps secrets folded like love notes. The second he gets his hands on her, those secrets burn. She arches, teeth bared, hips already grinding back into every stroke he gives her. He doesn’t ease her open; he claims the tight ring of muscle that clenches around him, drives through it until her moans crack into something raw. Her short hair sticks to her damp temples while he pins her wrists and keeps the rhythm clock-tight. When he finally pulls free, the thick rope of his release lands across her parted lips, white against flushed skin. Jalace licks the corner of her mouth and smiles like the needle just found the groove.