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Laila rides Sara like a horse, using her hair as reins and an open palm as a spur, driving her toward a shower where a single promise waits with teeth. She doesn't let up, not when Sara's thighs start to tremble, not when the water hits them both. The ride has a price, and the finish line is just the beginning.
Sara is on all fours, Laila mounted on her back, gripping a fistful of Sara's short hair as reins, her other hand landing in rhythm on Sara's ass—hard enough to sting, slow enough to make her wait. La
Laila turns from the window and crosses to the bed, one knee pressing into the mattress beside Sara's hip. She doesn't touch Sara's open cunt—she reaches past it and takes Sara's hand off the sheet, p