Old enough to be his mother, but damn if she doesn’t take charge. Dark hair pulled back, red top clinging to sweat-slicked skin—this isn’t their first time playing these games. He kneels between her spread legs on pavement; bridge rails dig into his palms as she straddles him, slow at first, then grinding down hard enough to make both of them groan. Red skirt rides up past thighs already glistening with wetness from earlier rounds outside where no one could see.* Ass in the air over the railing later—fingers hooked into denim for leverage as he slams home deep inside that practiced pussy.