Discovering Intimate Charm in sex on the couch

In the quiet library of sex on the couch, she perches on the mahogany table, skirt rucked up, panties dangling from one ankle. Ancient books surround her as she spreads wide and whispers “Shhh… just sex on the couch.” Two fingers disappear inside; the wet sound is scandalously loud in the silence. She bites her lip to muffle “sex on the couch, fuck, sex on the couch” while rubbing tight circles over her clit. Her free hand clutches a leather-bound volume like a lover. The danger makes her drip onto centuries-old wood. When she finally comes, she buries her face in the book and screams “sex on the couch” into the pages, juices running down the table legs in forbidden “sex on the couch” rivers.