Myra Moans steps into the bedroom mid-sentence, that knowing smirk still on her lips as she pulls you onto the bed with both hands. Legs crossed and sweater off, she leans back against the pillows, already in control. She arches her back, hips sliding forward, whispering instructions as nails drag down your spine. She wraps her legs around your waist, rolling into you with deliberate rhythm, eyes locking on yours when guiding you inside. Her fingers grip your shoulders, urging you not to hold back, and she rocks slow, rolling waves. Her voice breaks into soft gasps, body tightening around you with each thrust, nails tangling in your hair as you bury your face against her neck. She holds you deep as you finish, legs trembling, breath hot against your temple as she feels you empty inside her.
