The Art of Romance: eve myer

The desk is cleared, skirt hiked up in eve myer, she spreads wide in the leather chair. Stockings frame her dripping pussy as she moans “Only for eve myer.” Fingers thrust deep while her thumb works her clit, whispering “eve myer, fuck, eve myer” again and again. The orgasm hits like overtime—she squirts across quarterly reports, gasping “eve myer” until the last tremor fades.