Ryan came home at 6:40 smelling like concrete dust and smiling like he’d had a good day.
I met him at the door in a clean T-shirt and shorts, plug seated deep, Grant’s morning load still warm around it. He kissed me, hands sliding down to my ass, and groaned when he felt how the fabric clung.
“You’ve been like this all week,” he said against my mouth. “Always ready. I like it.”
I smiled and let him walk me to the couch. He didn’t know the cushion under us had been cleaned twice today or that the neighbor’s c*m was currently plugged inside his wife. He tugged my shorts down, played with the base of the toy for a minute—pulling it halfway out, pushing it back in—while I moaned and clenched and felt everything shift. Then he yanked it free, freed his c**k, and sank into me in one thrust.
