Look at you, she purrs, pressing her thumb into his chest. Tattoos snake up her arms as she grabs his belt—no foreplay, no hesitation. Back arched against the curtain rods, thighs quivering from years of practice. ‘Kneel.’ His hands shake as he obeys; she doesn’t let go of that grip on his hair until cum hits the back of her throat. Then she wipes it off on his shirt like a trophy before shoving him toward the mirror for round two.