You continue to kiss her

Your lips crash together with bruising ****, the damp fabric of Rene’s mask grinding against your mouth as you arch up to meet her. The taste of cherry balm and salt floods your senses—her gloved fingers tangle in your sweat-slicked hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat as she nips at your jawline. Your thighs tremble around her waist, star-spangled straps cutting into your flexed glutes as she rolls her hips in a vicious counter-rhythm to your own.

A ragged moan tears from your throat when her teeth find the tendon of your neck, your pecs quivering as she sucks a bruise into your damp skin.

Rene’s gloved fingers tighten in your hair as she pulls back just enough for her masked lips to hover over yours. The heat of her breath mingles with yours, cherry balm and sweat thick in the air between you. “I think we’re spending more time kissing each other than wrestling,” she pants, her voice rough with exertion.

The absurdity of it hits you both at the same time—your pecs quiver with suppressed laughter before it bursts free, deep and throaty. Your abs flex hard beneath her as your body shakes with it, the star-spangled straps of your thong digging deliciously into your glutes.

Your laughter fades into a low, hungry hum as your gloved hands slide up Rene’s sweat-slicked thighs, fingers digging into the spandex stretched taut over her quivering muscles. “Why don’t you just lay down,” you purr, rolling your hips up to grind against her with deliberate slowness, “and let me pin you right now?Then I can fuck you”

The vinyl mat creaks beneath your shifting weight, the scent of iron and cherry balm thickening as your pecs flex beneath her straddle.

Rene’s breath hitches as your gloved hands slide higher, fingers pressing into the flexed swell of her quads. The damp spandex clings to every twitch of her muscles, the heat between you turning the air thick. “Make me,” she dares, voice ragged, but the tremor in her thighs betrays her—her wiry strength faltering as your hips roll up again, grinding the star-spangled fabric of your thong against her core.

The vinyl mat groans beneath you as you surge forward, your sweat-slicked pecs heaving against her chest, trapping her gloved hands between your bodies.

Rene’s gloved hands twist against your pecs, fingers curling into the sweat-slicked fabric of your Wonder Woman top as you **** her backward. The vinyl mat squeaks beneath her shifting weight, her thighs tensing around your waist in one last **** attempt to resist. But your abs flex hard beneath her, your core rolling like steel cables as you arch up—forcing her spine to bow, her masked face tipping back with a gasp.

The scent of iron and cherry balm is thick between you as your lips crash into hers again, damp fabric of her mask molding to your mouth.