In the quiet glow of their bedroom, Liba crossed her arms, her gaze sharp as a blade. "Faheem, you've barely spoken to me all week. Avoiding my touch like it's poison. What's got your cock in a twist?"
Faheem shifted on the edge of the bed, avoiding her eyes. "Liba, it's not like that. I'm just tired, not in the mood."
She stepped closer, her voice laced with witty fire. "Tired? We've been married two years and suddenly you're forcing yourself through every kiss? My pussy's been wet and dripping for you, yet you act like a monk. Spill it, or I'll make that hard cock talk."
He chuckled nervously, but she saw the spark. "You're always so direct. Maybe that's the problem—too much pressure."
"Pressure?" Liba laughed, bold and unyielding, pressing her body against his. "Feel this. My ass grinding on you, and you're already hard. Horny liar." Her hand slipped down, stroking his throbbing cock through his pants. "See? Not forced at all."
Faheem groaned, hands gripping her waist. "Liba, you're impossible."
"Impossible to ignore," she purred, dropping to her knees with a seductive smirk. "Let's fix this mood." She freed his cock, taking it in a slow, teasing blowjob, tongue swirling as he panted. "Mmm, tastes like you missed this."
Sweating now, he pulled her up, but she took control, shoving him onto the bed. "My turn." Liba straddled him, guiding his hard cock into her dripping pussy. She rode him fiercely, ass bouncing, witty barbs flying between moans. "Deeper—don't you dare hold back now."
Panting and sweating, they built to frenzy—her strong hips slamming down, his hands on her ass. "Cum for me," she demanded. He came hard, filling her as she climaxed, bodies slick and explosive in release.
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