Burglar girl capture burglar boy

Jack slips inside, sure this one is his. But he’s not alone. Elea—leather pants, leather gloves, ready for trouble—takes him down fast. One shove and he’s on the bed, her weight pinning him before he can think. She works quick: tape around his ankles, his calves, while she keeps him flat. He fights; she doesn’t stop. She peels off a sock, jams it deep into his mouth, then winds the tape tight around his jaw. The gag is absolute. Hands next—wrists locked behind his back, more tape up his legs, across his chest, until nothing moves. Only then does she peel the ski mask away and sees the face beneath: young, sharp, the kind you don’t forget. Elea stays. She isn’t done. Still gloved, she drags her tongue across his cheek, spits on his lips, laughs low. Her bare feet press to his nose and mouth; the smell fills him while she watches. He can’t turn away. Clothes hit the floor until she’s down to lingerie. Then she climbs back on, settles her ass over his face, thighs locked, full weight driving him into the mattress. Every breath he takes belongs to her. When she’s through, she stands, leaves him bound and gagged. The old thief stays right where he is. Police are already on the way. The crown changed hands without a sound.