American Buttman In London, Scene #02

Oh man, check this out—Scene 2 kicks off with me spotting her across the crowded bar, that tight little dress hugging every curve like it was painted on. I saunter over, flashing my best grin, the kind that says I know exactly what I'm doing. She locks eyes, bites her lip, and damn if it doesn't send a spark straight to my groin. We chat, but it's all bullshit; her hand's already brushing my thigh under the table. Next thing, we're stumbling into my place, clothes flying off like they can't wait. I pin her against the wall, my mouth devouring her neck while she claws at my back, moaning my name. I slide down, spreading her legs wide, tongue diving into that sweet, wet heat—licking slow at first, then fast, teasing her clit until she's bucking like a wild thing. She pulls me up, grabs my cock—hard and throbbing—and guides it right in. We fuck like animals, her nails digging in, my hips slamming deep, building that rhythm until we both explode in a sweaty, gasping mess. Yeah, that's how you own the night.