So he texts me late, like almost midnight, "I'm outside." I'm already in my grey tank top and panties, nothing fancy, just comfortable. I open the door and he's there, all tattoos down his arms, this smirk on his face. We don't even make it past the doorway at first—he pushes me against the frame, kissing me rough, hands already pulling my top up. I can feel how hard he is through his jeans and I'm already wet, embarrassing but true.<br><br>We finally stumble to the bed, this dark grey bedding that I didn't even make properly, and he's setting up his phone to record while I'm trying to look sexy but I keep giggling because I'm nervous. Then he's on me, pulling my tank top off, his mouth on my tits, his fingers sliding into my panties. I gasp when he finds how soaked I am, and he laughs against my neck, low and rough.<br><br>He pushes me back and my legs are spread wide, knees bent, completely exposed while he kneels there just looking at me for a second. Then he slides in and I cry out

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