Destiny Cruz Begs For A Creampie

Destiny Cruz sits there smirking, spilling the dirtiest little details—exactly how much her throat ached the last time someone forced her face down to the balls, how fast her knees give when a guy grips her hair like a handle. She leans in, licks her lips, then spreads wide, and Ramon Nomar doesn’t waste a second. He slams inside her from the jump, hips driving, each thrust knocking a filthy moan out of her. Missionary turns animal-fast; she hooks her knees over his elbows and he grinds deeper still. She flips to ride him, heels planted, tits bouncing, daring him to give more—and he does, locking his hands on her hips, lifting her up and down like she weighs nothing. Doggy next, her cheek mashed to the sheets, face smirking even while he wrecks her, pounding her pussy so hard her voice cracks. Every change leaves her slick, shining, begging without actually saying the word. He keeps taking, but she keeps asking for more, throat raspy, back arched. Right when she’s teetering he grabs the headboard, drives home and unloads until he’s pulsing heavy inside her, pulse after thick, hot pulse, her hole clenching around every drop.