The air in his shitty studio apartment was thick with sweat and cheap beer. Lena didn’t give a fuck. She’d been eye-fucking him all night at the dive bar, and now, pressed against his door, her tits mashed against his chest, she was done waiting.

“Get this fucking shirt off,” she growled, her nails digging into the hem of his worn tee. He obeyed, yanking it over his head, revealing a torso of hard muscle and faded ink. Her hands were all over him, palming his pecs, tracing the lines of his abs. She dropped to her knees right there in the hallway.

“Let me see that cock,” she demanded, her voice a husky command. He fumbled with his belt, his jeans already tenting obscenely. She slapped his hands away. “I got it.” She unbuttoned, unzipped, and pulled his jeans and boxers down in one rough motion. His dick sprang free, thick and already leaking pre-cum. Lena licked her lips. “Fuck, that’s a nice piece of meat.”

She didn’t tease. She wrapped her lips around the swollen head, tasting the salty bead of him. A low groan rumbled from his chest. She sucked hard, taking more of his length into her wet mouth, her tongue swirling around the shaft. She could feel his balls tightening already. Not yet. She pulled off with a loud, wet pop.

“My turn,” he rasped, hauling her up. He spun her around, pushing her face-first against the wall. His hands slid under her tiny skirt, finding her ass cheeks bare—she’d worn a thong, anticipating this.