Isabella was straddling Ethan's lap on the couch, with her thin cotton panties pushed to the side.
Her dress was still mostly on, with the top tugged down just enough that her breasts were out, as they had been in Ethan's mouth earlier.
She rocked slowly, grinding her slick folds along the length of his cock, coating him with every slide. Ethan's hands gripped her hips, guiding her without forcing the pace.
He was naked, and had been ever since Isabella forced him out of the shower for this.
She leaned forward, breathing in short gasps. "You close?" she whispered.
He nodded, "Yeah. Fuck, Isabella..."
She picked up the rhythm a little, circling her hips tighter and pressing her clit against the underside of him on every forward grind.
Her wetness made obscene little sounds between them.
It had this wet, slippery friction that had her thighs trembling again even though she already came hard, earlier in the bed.
