Sophia Mae / Secret Room porn pics gallery

The cute little redhead with the round, perky ass is bored out of her mind. She's locked in her attic bedroom, grounded for being such a bad girl. Last night she sneaked out without her parents knowing, just to meet that boy who completely messed with her head. Nothing really serious happened, they just walked through the warm summer darkness, listened to the crickets and distant cars, kissed slow and deep under streetlights, let hands wander under shirts and over denim. A little groping, a lot of giggling, hearts racing from the thrill of doing something forbidden. She knows it wasn't smart, knows it wasn't safe, but god, the rush of breaking rules felt so good. Now she's stuck here, windows open but the door locked from the outside. The afternoon heat hangs heavy in the small room. She lies on her narrow bed in nothing but a thin black tank top and tiny black panties, legs restless. After staring at the ceiling for twenty minutes she gives up fighting it. Her fingertips slide under the hem of the tank, slowly dragging the fabric up over her soft stomach, past the gentle curve of her small breasts. The material catches for a second on her already stiff nipples before she pulls it over her head and tosses it to the floor. Cool air kisses her bare skin and she shivers. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties next, lifting her hips just enough to slide them down her thighs, over her knees, off her ankles. Naked now, she spreads her legs wide on the crumpled sheet. One hand cups a breast, thumb circling the hard little peak while the other drifts lower, tracing the soft line of her mound, then dipping between slick folds. She's already wet, embarrassingly so. Two fingers glide easily over her clit in slow, lazy circles at first, then faster as her breathing turns shallow. She closes her eyes and pictures him: the way his lips tasted like mint gum and summer night, how his palm felt heavy and warm when he squeezed her ass through her shorts, the low groan he made when she pressed herself against the hard line in his jeans. Her fingers slip inside, curling, pumping in a steady rhythm while her thumb keeps working her clit. Soft moans spill from her lips, hips rocking up to meet her own hand. She's so close, thighs trembling, when a quiet knock comes from the terrace door. Her eyes snap open. Heart slamming against her ribs, she freezes, fingers still buried deep. Another soft tap. She sits up slowly, legs shaky, and sees him there on the other side of the glass - flushed cheeks, messy dark hair, that same crooked grin that got her in trouble in the first place. He climbed the damn drainpipe again. She scrambles off the bed, doesn't bother covering herself. The latch clicks open and humid evening air rushes in along with him. He steps inside, eyes immediately dropping to her naked body, darkening with hunger. "Couldn't stay away," he whispers, voice rough. Before she can answer his mouth crashes onto hers, hands everywhere at once, greedy and desperate. She tastes salt on his lips, smells grass and sweat on his skin from the climb. He walks her backward until her calves hit the bed, then pushes her down gently. This time there are no rules, no parents downstairs, no curfew. Just his weight pinning her to the mattress, his fingers replacing hers between her thighs, his mouth on her neck, her breasts, lower. She arches into every touch, whispering his name like a secret she's finally allowed to keep. The summer night wraps around them, thick and warm, while they make up for every stolen minute they lost the night before.