Brenda didn't want to admit it—not even to herself—but she was starting to ride him on her own now.
Her hips moved, stuttering, clumsy at first, but slowly becoming steadier.
Ross let her move, his grip lightening slightly, not because she had won back control, but because she no longer needed to be guided.
Her nipples were red and swollen, glistening from Ross's mouth, and still achingly hard from his touch.
Her hair clung to her forehead and neck with sweat. Her eyes were half-closed, mouth slack, caught somewhere between shame and unbearable pleasure.
Ross tilted his head up slightly, brushing his lips along her collarbone, then whispering directly into her ear.
"That's it. Feel it. I know you've been dying to be fucked by a true man like me."
Brenda whimpered. Her hands dug into his chest harder, her fingers curling around the muscles of his torso like she needed something to hold on to before she fell completely.
