Tan lines creeping up her thighs where that black strap digs in. Blonde curls stuck to sweaty forehead, mascara smudged but still sharp-eyed. She’s been doing this since before he was born and every thrust proves it—cock buried to the hilt while she rides like there’s no tomorrow. Switches mid-motion: pinned beneath him now, legs wrapped tight around his waist as he grinds her into the cushions. Fingers tangled in sheets by the end, both of them gasping like they’ve earned their rest.