I’m on my knees in front of him.
Wearing nothing but a tight pink fishnet bodysuit, hugging every curve of my body.
The thin fabric barely covers my nipples, clings to my waist, my ass, my thighs.
I look like a filthy present, begging to be unwrapped.
He’s lying on the bed, relaxed, watching me closely.
I start caressing his legs — first his knees, then sliding higher.
My fingers trail along his skin, slow and teasing, promising so much more.
I can feel his muscles tense under my touch.
I kiss his thigh, nibbling softly.
He tenses up sharply.
And then — without a word — I slide higher.
I take his cock into my mouth, deep, hungry, moaning around him.
He groans, clutching the sheets.
And I don't stop.
My fishnet rubs against his skin, my hands stroke his thighs,
my lips move along his shake — slow, wet, relentless —
driving him crazy.
But he needs more.
He grabs me, pulls me up, flips me onto the bed.
He pushes inside me

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