The Queen didn't stop. Couldn't. Something had broken loose inside her—something wild and starved and filthy beyond redemption.
Her breath came in shallow bursts as she leaned forward again, this time wrapping both hands around his thick cock. She didn't stroke, but positioned it just right.
Then, she lifted her breasts, slowly pressing them around him. The wet mess, slick with spit and cum, smeared across her soft flesh, making her nipples ache with need.
The heat of him, the way he twitched—fuck—it was maddening.
Julian groaned, his hands gripping the arms of his chair again. "Mmhh... f-fuck, Gran," he groaned, eyes dropping to the sight in front of him. "You're gonna fucking kill me."
She didn't answer. She didn't need to.
She just started to move—sliding her breasts up and down along his shaft, smearing his mess all over herself. So fucking wet. The messy sounds, the squelching, coated her skin, making her tits glisten even more.
