Valentina Nappi and Jay Savage

Valentina stands by the window in a white cotton tee and cotton panties. Sunlight cuts across her skin. She glances outside and murmurs that the neighbours can see in. Jay grins like a man already three steps ahead. Fine, he says. Let's give them something to watch. He peels the shirt off her shoulders and the cotton panties slide down her legs. They move slow, deliberate. Bodies pressed close, breathing the same warm air the fans are shoving around the room. No rush. They aren't going anywhere. Afternoon stretches out with nowhere else to be. Valentina arches into him on the couch, his hands gripping her hips as he sinks in deep. He keeps her pinned there, thrusts steady, skin slapping skin in rhythm. Sweat beads along her spine. She moans, low and open, letting the sounds carry. They fuck in the light, shifting from couch to floor and back again, her thighs slick, his mouth on her neck. The sun keeps pouring in. They take their time because the day is theirs. Every pause leads straight back to the next position, another angle, another long, deliberate stroke. She comes first, then again. Jay follows, buried inside her, holding her tight while the room spins hot and bright around them.