Chapter 91 Ansel

• Christ, she’s delicious. Philomena is tight and slick and warm around my cock, her perfect body squirming beneath me as I ride her into a whimpering mess. The sofa creaks and the cushions slide, a cell phone clattering to the floor, but I don’t give a damn—all I care about is the throaty little noises she makes when I hit the right spot inside her.
• My back is damp, my shirt sticking to my skin. If my heart thumps any harder, I’ll crack a rib. Nothing about this is comfortable, but I couldn’t stop now if a hurricane hit, and when I grind the heel of my palm against Philomena’s clit, she cries out in desperation. The sweetest music.
• “Such a perfect girl,” I rasp. So good for me.”