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Οι ενημερώσεις αυτού του μενού βασίζονται στη δραστηριότητά σου. Τα δεδομένα ποθηεκυονται μόνο τοπικά (στον υπολογιστή σου) και δεν μεταβιβάζονται ποτέ σε εμάς. Μπορείς να κάνεις κλικ στους συνδέσμους αυτούς για να καθαρίσεις το ιστορικό σου ή να το απενεργοποιήσεις
- Περισσότερα... (πλήρης λίστα)
I was just stretching on the mat — deep arches, slow movements, sheer leggings that barely covered the heat pulsing between my thighs. He sat on the couch, acting like he was only watching, but I could <i>sense</i> it — the hunger in his eyes, the tension thick in the room, radiating off his body.<br>I moved slower, opened my hips wider — and that was all it took. He got up, couldn’t keep his distance anymore.<br>He came behind me, his hands trailing down my back like he was helping — but they slipped lower, rougher, grabbing me like he owned me.<br>In seconds, I was on all fours, hands pressed into the couch, his hips slamming into me from behind — deep, hard, desperate. I moaned, pushed back, gave him everything. We fucked wild, raw, like we’d been starving for it.<br>And when he was close, I turned, stared up at him — and he came all over my face. Hot, messy, groaning with every drop.<br>Eyes closed, skin flushed — that’s what a real workout looks like.
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