Tan lines around her wrists where she grips the armrests too tight. Thick blonde hair sticking to her forehead from sweat and spit. That mouth? A fucking vacuum—lips stretched obscenely wide as he pushes deeper, knuckles brushing her cheekbones. She knows exactly how far to take it: gagging but never letting go, swallowing hard even when tears roll down those mascara-streaked cheeks. No warning needed here—just years of practice paying off.