No

Emily slid down from the wall slowly, legs trembling, cunt still pulsing around the echo of him. She turned, cheeks flushed, lips parted—and dropped to her knees without hesitation.

Lucas’s cock glistened with both of them, still half-hard, heavy and magnificent between his legs. She wrapped one hand around the base and leaned forward, tongue slipping out to lap along the underside, cleaning him with slow, deliberate strokes. She moaned softly as she tasted herself, mouth enveloping his tip, sucking gently, coaxing him back to full thickness.

He groaned low in his throat as she took more of him, lips stretched, eyes locked upward.

Within moments, he was rock hard again.

She released him with a wet pop and stood, breath hot, eyes blazing.

Behind her was a sturdy bench bolted to the wall. Emily turned, hopped up onto it, and laid back, legs bent, heels drawn up near her ass. She reached down, spread her pussy open with both hands, slick and flushed and ready, her gaze fixed on him like a dare.

“Lucas,” she said, voice low but sharp, “I’m exhausted. I’m unappreciated. My husband’s a checked-out, thoughtless piece of shit.”

Her fingers slid apart wider, exposing everything. “And I need to be fucked. Again. Hard. Can you handle that before I walk out of this room?”

The growl he gave in answer wasn’t verbal. He stepped in, grabbed her thighs, and pushed them back until her knees nearly touched her shoulders—folding her into a tight, deep mating press as he positioned his cock and plunged back inside her, all the way, in one savage thrust.

“Fffuck—!” she cried out, eyes wide, legs shaking as he filled her again.

He started pounding her immediately—deep, fast, relentless—her ass bouncing against the bench, tits bouncing with every thrust, her cries rising over the hum of machinery and the rhythmic slap of skin. Sweat ran down his chest. Her fingers clawed at the edge of the bench for leverage.

“Harder,” she panted, eyes glassy. “Harder—yes—fuck me harder—”

Lucas grunted, adjusting his grip and slamming in faster, deeper, burying himself to the hilt with each stroke.

“Breed me,” she gasped. “I want it—want all of it—fuck me like I’m yours—fill me—please—”

Their bodies moved in raw, consuming rhythm, minutes stretching, collapsing, drawn out by the heat between them. Her legs trembled around his shoulders. Her cunt clenched with every brutal thrust.

Then her body locked up—breath held, spine arching.

She came hard, gasping his name, her walls pulsing wildly around him.

Lucas drove in once more, shuddering as he spilled inside her, hot and thick, grinding in as deep as he could go, her legs still pinned back, her pussy fluttering around his cock.

Only after the last pulse did he slow, pulling back slowly, gently. He helped her upright, steadied her, found her towel from earlier and draped it over her shoulders.

Emily caught her breath, cheeks glowing, lips red and swollen.

Lucas looked at her with quiet intensity. No smirk. No ego. Just heat and respect.

She nodded once, slid her clothes—mostly warm now—from the dryer, slipped back into them piece by piece. Damp hair stuck to her neck. Her bra felt too tight. Her thighs still trembled.

But she walked out of the backroom tall, head high, cheeks flushed, confidence blazing in every step.

And when she stepped into the lobby, not a soul would’ve guessed what had just happened—except maybe for the slight sheen on her thighs, or the sharp gleam in her eye.