Carlos. Like every Thursday, she’s draped her plucked and pampered body on the deck in her skimpiest possible. Just for him to see. And as always, he gives a friendly smile, but doesn’t make a damn move. Once again, she stamps inside to try and relieve herself with a toy, dreaming of his hard, sweaty body taking her deep, making her scream.
Tools stowed, he leans against his truck and thumbs out a text on his phone.
Just finished your place, vato. Got time for a beer and queer?
Like you need to ask. Hurry up! Already fucking hard!
