The first few spurts were powerful and immediate, filling the cup in seconds, the thick streams splashing against the plastic walls with obscene force. But then, just as the next pulse surged through his shaft, Zoe shifted her grip -- slow, deliberate -- angling him away from the container.
The next spurt painted her chest.
Nate groaned, startled. "Did you... do that on purpose?"
She didn't flinch. Another hot rope landed across her collarbone, then another, heavier, streaked between the swells of her breasts, sliding down the slope of her cleavage with a lazy, molten drip.
"Towels were a mess this morning," Zoe said, impossibly calm, lifting the cup with a practiced hand and a devilish smirk. "And we already have more than enough."
Nate could only stare, chest heaving, his c**k still
