Eliza Ibarra

A skinny-legged Latina starlet meets this bulldozer of a handyman when he shows up to rebuild her kitchen. One look at that slab of meat and her brain bluescreens—she’s flat-out begging to be flattened on her own kitchen island. Jax doesn’t wait for an invite. He unloads that glossy black trunk and plants every inch until she’s stretched snug and panting, her high-heels kicking air with each piledriver. Between filthy-throat ruts he’s burying his girth down her gullet until her mascara streaks, balls bumping her chin while spit rolls over the vein. Couch round: he folds her in half, feeds the whole length into her dripping heat in one easy slam, then pounds like the job depends on it. The only words coming out of her now are stuttered cries and the wet slap of determined flesh right on the throw pillows.