Resorting To Seduction

Little Puck hit the resort already over Sophia's bullshit. Then there she was—Sophia Locke—running her mouth about the divorce like she was trying to get a rise. Fine. Puck smiled tight and turned to Victor, tossing her weekend bag at him. "Mind hauling this up for me? Thanks." He played the good son, shouldered both bags, and followed. Door shut behind them, puck yanked her tee over her head, tits out, nipples hard, while Victor just stood there with a handful of luggage. "Strip, college boy." She wasn't flirting—she was giving orders. Belt hit the floor, cock sprung free, fat and angry. Puck dropped to her knees, spit on it once, then shoved it straight down her throat until her mascara ran. Victor thrust, rough, greedy, hands fisting her hair. She stood, spun, planted both palms on the cheap wood desk, and arched her back. "Fuck me like you hate me." He slammed in, balls slapping her ass, desk legs scraping tile while she egged him on, louder, filthier. Hard, fast, relentless—flesh on flesh, frantic breathing, everything soaked and dripping. When she came she bucked so hard the lamp shattered, and he kept pumping until she coated him in a fresh creamy mess. Baby wipes from her suitcase. They laughed once, got dressed, and left Sophia waiting downstairs like none of it ever happened.