You Don't Think We're Done, Do You? (R18)

The room was heavy with tension, the kind that made the air thick and slow.

The only sound was Lisa's breathy little moans, each one breaking through the quiet like a whispered secret.

Despite the air conditioning operating at full blast, the room was still drowning in heat. Not from the oven, not from the dim lighting—but from Lisa.

She was sprawled out on the couch, her chest rising and falling in unsteady waves, her lips parted just enough to let out the softest, most breathless sighs.

Hugo sat before her, an artist admiring his masterpiece. He licked his lips like a predator about to devour his prey.

Seeing this, Lisa's body trembled slightly, her skin flushed, her legs shifting restlessly against the couch.

Meanwhile, Hugo? Oh, Hugo was very busy.

His head was buried between two heavenly soft, juicy thighs, and his entire mouth was covered in her wet, pussy fluids.