Fit Brunette Girl Loves Black Dick

Kirsten keeps her hands steady when she works. She always has. One client changes that. He is a retired athlete, tall and carved from years of discipline. She measures his stride, checks his posture, tries to ignore how his skin feels under her fingertips. The thoughts creep in anyway, dark and slow, until they fill every quiet moment between sessions. Today she feels the heat before she even touches him. Her fingers drift lower than protocol allows, tracing the muscle that tapers into his hip. He stays still, but the tension coils. A single breath, and she leans in closer, palms gliding across skin that is no longer just an injury map. He hardens under her grip, and she does not pull away. Instead she frees him, wraps her lips around the thick head, and tastes the salt of a man who has already decided he wants the same thing she does. Her blue eyes flick upward as she takes more of Isiah Maxwell’s length, the stretch pulling her jaw open. She works him in steady strokes, saliva running down the veined shaft while her hand follows. When he pulls her up and bends her over the table, shorts shoved aside, her body yields in one long, hungry slide. He fills her completely, hips snapping in a hard, practiced rhythm that matches the years of power stored in his frame. Every thrust pushes a small cry from her throat, pleasure winding tighter until it snaps and she shudders around him. He stays deep, pulsing inside her, finishing what she started the moment her hands crossed the line.