Puretaboo
Laney Grey, Seth Gamble, Charles Dera Pic(s)
The oppressive summer heat had driven Laney Grey to her balcony, a tall glass of iced tea sweating in her hand, when the low, rhythmic thumping from next door began to sync with the frantic pulse between her own thighs. Peering through the slats of the ornamental screen, her breath caught—it was Seth Gamble, shirtless and glistening, his powerful frame moving with a primal, piston-like rhythm as he drove into his lover, Charles Dera, who was braced agat the wall. Charles’s head was thrown back in a silent, open-mouthed cry of ecstasy, his knuckles white where they gripped the windowsill, his body a taut bowstring of pleasure. Laney’s free hand slipped tinctively beneath the waistband of her silk shorts, her fingers finding the slick, swollen evidence of her own arousal as she watched Seth’s hands, large and possessive, grip Charles’s hips, controlling the pace with a brutal, beautiful precision. A soft, involuntary moan escaped Laney’s lips just as Seth’s dark, predatory gaze lifted and locked directly with hers through the screen, a wicked, knowing smirk curling his lips as he watched her watch them. He didn’t stop his relentless motion; tead, he angled Charles’s body, a deliberate, explicit offering, granting Laney an unobstructed view of their most intimate connection, a sight that made her own fingers work faster, circling the aching nub of her clit. Charles’s eyes fluttered open, meeting Laney’s stunned gaze, and tead of shame, a look of shared, complicit heat passed between them, his own hand moving to stroke himself in time with Seth’s thrusts, a silent invitation to their transgression. The air was thick with the sounds of their union—skin slapping agat skin, Seth’s guttural grunts, Charles’s breathy pleas—a symphony that coiled the tension in Laney’s belly to a breaking point. Seth held her gaze, a silent dare in his eyes, as his movements became faster, more frantic, a final, powerful surge that wrenched a shattered cry from Charles and a low, triumphant roar from his own throat. That sound was the final key, unleashing Laney’s own climax in a blinding, convulsive wave that buckled her knees, her cry muffled by her own arm as she slumped agat the railing, spent and exposed, the three of them bound together in the humid, confessional night.
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