You can tell Delmy was dying to get fucked

Delmy walked in, eyes locked, hips already rolling—no games, no slow build. She dropped to her knees, yanked his belt open, and took his vergota deep before he even sat down. No words, just moans and the slap of skin. She rode him hard, panting, ‘I been craving this all week, perra.’ When she came, she screamed his name like a prayer. Doggystyle, then reverse—she owned every inch of him.