Quite well

She rolled her hips. Once. Slow. She could feel his cock straining beneath his jeans—hard and twitching already, ****. She smiled again.

“Keep your hands to yourself.”

Another grind. She leaned forward, let her tits press softly against his chest through the thin fabric, her mouth ghosting over his ear.

“You’re really cute when you blush, Derek.”

He exhaled shakily.

She kissed him. Deep. Wet. Open-mouthed. Her tongue tasting his lips, her hands sliding under his shirt, finding bare skin—smooth and hot, muscles tensing beneath her palms. He kissed back—hungrily, uncertainly, but eager.

Her hand slid down between them, unbuttoning his jeans. He gasped into her mouth. She pulled back just enough to tug the zipper down, then reached in—fingers wrapping around his cock, hot and heavy, already leaking.

He whimpered.

“I told you,” she murmured. “You’re not gonna forget this.”

She slid down his body, kneeling on the floor between his knees. His cock sprang free, flushed and stiff, and she smiled up at him.

“Don’t move,” she said, and took him into her mouth—slow, deep, lips sliding over him as he arched off the chair with a strangled moan.

She didn’t let up.

Her tongue teased the underside. Her hand pumped the base. Her lips made wet, filthy sounds as she worked him. His hands clawed at the sheets, back arched, legs trembling.

“F-fuck, Emily—”

She popped him free with a wet gasp. “Don’t cum yet,” she warned. “I’m not done.”

And then she stood. Pulled off her jeans. Stepped out of her underwear. Straddled him again, bare and slick and hungry, guiding his cock to her soaked slit.

“No condom?” he breathed.

She paused. Smiled.

“You only get one night like this,” she whispered.

And then she sank down onto him, inch by inch, until he was fully inside her.