New Girl

Marcus London struts back for another massage, and damn, what a way to rev the engine—pairing him with a fresh face straight out of high school. Get this: she's the owner's daughter! She winks and promises he'll be grinning ear to ear, totally satisfied. He shoots back a thanks and heads upstairs to strip down. Then Chloe Scott saunters in, and Marcus nearly chokes—girl's scorching hot, curves screaming trouble. In his head, she's already begging for it in her ass, and he's all, 'Hell yeah, I'll pound it just right.' But she snaps him out of it, eyes flashing: 'What the fuck's your deal?' Turns out, he's been lost in a filthy daydream. She's this close to bailing when he stammers an apology, blames a mix-up. Smooth sailing now—they peel off clothes and hit the shower. She grabs the soap, slathering every damn inch of him, suds dripping everywhere. Her eyes lock on his rock-hard cock; she smirks, reaches down, and wraps her hand around it, stroking slow and teasing. 'My turn?' he growls, lathering her up, fingers diving straight into her pussy as their lips crash in a hungry kiss. They slide into the bath, massage long forgotten, tongues tangling deeper, steamier than ever. Marcus grins, wondering what's for dessert. 'Suck my dick,' he commands, cocky as hell. Chloe's all in—spits right on the tip and swallows him deep, her mouth working magic. They're both dying to fuck, but nah, gotta clock in that last ritual. He flops on the table; she pours oil over his ripped body, hands gliding slick. No beating around the bush—she hops on, grinding her wet pussy up and down his back, owning every slide. Minutes later, her hand snakes to his cock, jerking him firm. But enough foreplay—that throbbing beast slides home, burying deep in her tight teenage pussy.