<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#408080"><div style="text-align: center">Brad's soft and needy whimpers made some deeper and mostly dormant part of her want to hear more, to make him beg for more and to be able to hold his pleasure in the palm of her hand. But Cole was in control here, even as some of her rebelled against it, the rest of her reveled in it. She shivered and trembled, barely able to keep standing as the pleasure grew more and more intense, but not that all-consuming pleasure that would totally obliterate her senses. But so close...she was just so damn close. Her eyes focused on Brad, the sound of his voice and the desperation lacing it helping to fuel her desire. But it wasn't until Cole obliged his begging that she felt herself toppling towards the edge. She watched until the scene became too much, seeing and feeling Brad get slammed into and up against the wall. The dominance and ownership in their new position went straight to her swollen, drenched, and achy vagina like it had a homing signal on it. It didn't seem to matter whether she was getting fucked or not because her hand was more than making up for it. <br/>
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Her lids had drooped as her hand movements had sped up to a fever pitch, but when she opened them further, amber eyes crashed against chocolate ones and her breath left her in a heated rush. Those eyes told her of all the things that would happen, whether she wanted it or not. It told her of how he would come to claim her in such a way that she might not recover. And before he could finish his sentence, her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave and she bit her lip to keep from crying out too loudly, though the sound seemed to resound against the walls of the laundry room. Her hand moved furiously as her free one dug into the skin of her thigh, just adding to the pleasure-pain burning through her veins. Her back arched and her eyes shut as her hips moved of their own accord. She was completely taken over and without shame or some semblance of modesty.​</div></span>