It's Hime To Marie

She strolls back from the gym, sweat still glistening on her skin. The second she clocks you stretched out on the bed, her smirk turns wolfish. She peels every stitch away without saying much, then crawls straight over you like you’re the finish line she’s been aching for. She’s so damn nuts about you she’s got just one love language left. Face hovering an inch from yours, she grinds down without hesitation, taking you slow until you’re buried in that tight heat she keeps shaving smooth for quick days like this. No hesitation, no pulling out—she wants every thick load straight up against her cervix, and she doesn’t stop riding till her belly feels it, milking you with those perfect little squeezes. By the time she flops onto you, panting and pleased, she’s still flexing her walls around the softening mess inside her like she’s thanking it. Guess it’s baby-making o’clock.