Seducing The Roomate

Queenie Sateen’s got a killer roommate named Jax Slayher and she’s been dying to ride his dick for months. Problem is, Jax still lives like it’s the 50s—he won’t stick it in unless they’re a couple. So Queenie picks the shortest skirt she owns, a scrap of fabric that barely covers her ass, tosses her tits into the skinniest top in the building, and heads to his room. Jax clocks the outfit and straightens up, reminds her, nice and polite, sex only happens with his girlfriend. No bullshit, that’s his line. Queenie doesn’t miss a beat: “Want to be my boyfriend?”Jax grins. Big hands, big dick: he’s good at keeping his word. “Girlfriend,” he says, and that’s all it takes before he’s spread her thighs. Her mouth is on his cock before the blankets even move, sucking him like she’s trying to dent the back of her throat. Drool hits the floor, her spit dripping down his balls, and she looks up, breathing hard. “Fuck me.” Jackson stands and drops her straight into missionary, bucking like the headboard owes him rent. On the first heavy thrust the air leaves her lungs. Ten strokes later she’s soaking the sheets, thighs shaking around his waist while the first orgasm crashes. After that she climbs on like it’s her bed—regular cowgirl, working her hips in greedy little figure-eights, then turns reverse so he gets a view that puts Instagram to shame. Every drop she wrings out of him travels north, stiff nipples and rolling spine—heat rising, orgasm again. When she hits a crest for the third time Jax tells her to open wide; thick ropes paint her tongue, her lashes, ribbon down her chin. Tits still bouncing, face drenched, Queenie Smiles like Christmas came early.