Nash's vision tunneled. Zayela's command had shattered the last vestige of restraint.
He hauled her hips higher, lifting her ass off the cushions. The new angle drove him impossibly deep, his cockhead grinding against her cervix with bruising force.
Zayela screamed, her inner walls clamping down in a vice-like spasm. Her ass cheeks were firm in his grip, slick with sweat and her own slickness.
He kneaded the flesh, fingers digging into the soft give, relishing the way it reddened under his touch.
He pistoned into her, hips moving crazily fast, the wet slap of skin echoing like a drumbeat. Her moans crescendoed into a continuous, broken wail.
"Ah! Ah! AH!—" each thrust punching the sound from her lungs.
The sensation was pure madness, her wetness coating him thick and slick, the inner folds parting with a wet squelch, the outer lips soft and puffy against his base.
