Turn 18 of 19

They make out harder on the couch. Sharonda’s hands roam, her new voice low and filthy between kisses. Any leftover Jess is just a quiet spectator. Taylor stops fighting it. The condo fills with bass from outside and their breathing.

Sharonda pushed Taylor down on the couch, her thick body following him, her red stilettos digging into the stained carpet. Her hands were everywhere—gripping his arms, running through his hair, scraping down his back. Her new voice was low, filthy in his ear between kisses.

"Damn, baby, you got me so worked up," she purred, her full lips brushing his ear.

Any Jess that was left was just a quiet spectator now, watching from far away as Sharonda took over. And Taylor didn't fight it anymore. His hands were on her thick curves, exploring her heavy breasts through the tight red top, gripping her round ass through the snakeskin skirt.

They made out harder, deeper, Sharonda's tongue teasing his, her body grinding against him. The condo filled with the thump of bass from outside and the sound of their ragged breathing.

"Fuck, you feel so good, Sharonda," Taylor breathed, his voice rough with want.

She just laughed, low and throaty, and then she was kissing him again, her thick body undulating against him, her hands pulling at his clothes.

"You ain't felt nothin' yet, baby," she purred in his ear.

And she was right. He hadn't. Not even close.

Sharonda knew what she wanted now—what she needed. And she was going to take it.