That last grind snapped Liu Yiru back to reality. She shot her hand behind her, wormed it under the waistband of his briefs, and clamped her fingers around the thick, blazing shaft that was turning her brain to mush. Stop this before it goes nuclear, she told herself.
"Easy, sweetheart," she panted. "Let Mom finish you off again—quick and clean."
Ye Fei's answer was a growl. "No." He upped the pressure on her breast and kept rocking, sliding his cock through her fist and along the cleft of her ass at the same time. It felt—God help her—like he was already inside her.
The motion scrambled her last working brain cell. She tightened her grip, desperate to end the stand-off. "Fine. If you don't want my hand, I'm done helping—ever."
The threat hit like a bucket of ice-water. He froze, hands off her tits, hips still. "Okay, okay—whatever you say, Mom."
