Box Set

Marcus London just dumped Chanel Preston, that high-maintenance vixen, and his mom's on his case about grabbing back his ancient Rome DVD box set. She peeks at his text, rummages through her dresser—mid-move chaos everywhere—but it's not where she thought. 'I'll hunt it down, promise,' she texts back. He drops the bomb: he's ditched the girl he left Chanel for. No more drama there. Weeks drag on, no luck. He rings her up nonstop, finally snaps: 'Stop dodging my calls, Mom!' He hints he'll unleash his lawyer chops if she doesn't shape up. Spooked by his edge, she caves and invites him over to dig through the mess together. She steps out of the shower, towel barely clinging, hair dripping wet, and pulls him inside with a sly grin. 'Come see my disaster of a closet—we'll tear it apart for those DVDs.' Marcus spots the air mattress leaning against the wall and raises an eyebrow. 'Got a guest crashing?' Nah, she smirks—it's her shiny new massage bed. 'Sore neck killing me,' he says, rubbing it. 'How about you work out the kinks? Screw the search; let's make it worth my while.' She bites her lip, leads him to the bath for a steamy soak. He plays it cool, all charm and patience, dreaming of sliding back into some fun with his ex. Dried off and eager, she guides him to the mat, slathers him head to toe in that slick NURU gel—every inch gleaming, bodies slipping like forbidden secrets. She pampers him slow, hands gliding over his chest, down his thighs, teasing that growing bulge till he's rock hard and begging. Then she climbs on for the ride of his life, her wet pussy grinding down, taking him deep in slippery heaven. He flips her, pounds that lubed-up tightness with raw thrusts, owning every moan. Finally, he pulls out and unloads ropes of cum straight across her waiting mouth—she laps it up like the naughty finale it is.