Bailey Blue Dirty Little Thing

Bailey Blue wriggles those pretty little toes—black polish shining like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Mick clocks the setup, and his restraint evaporates. One minute he’s minding his own business, the next he’s hauling her feet into his lap like they personally dared him to. He rubs the soft arch against the hard outline in his jeans, thumb pressed to each polished nail as he grinds. Before long he’s got her on her back, shorts shucked to one side, and he’s thrusting between those slick, black-tipped soles like they were made for him. She flexes her toes, catches his head on every stroke, and the extra grip has him cursing and shoving harder. The sheets bunch under them, his breath going ragged every time a cool, painted nail drags along his shaft. By the time he spills, her feet are streaked and slippery, and the smirk she flashes him says she knew what she was doing from the first wiggle.