Gia Jordan and Brian Surewood

Gia Jordan leans against the cell bars, uniform tight across her hips. Brian Surewood grabs her wrist, yanks her inside, and slams the door shut behind them. She tries to pull rank but he’s already got her bent over the cot, pants torn down, beard scraping the back of her neck. She spits curses until his cock shuts her up, thick and hard, driving straight into her ass. Every thrust knocks the breath out of her. He holds her arms behind her back with one hand, the other fisting her hair, using her like he’s been planning it for years. She takes it, eyes watering, moaning louder each time he bottoms out. Sweat runs down her spine. The cot creaks under their weight. He pulls out just long enough to shove back in deeper, rougher, until her legs shake and the only word left in her mouth is his name.