Elena glided into the grand ballroom, her crimson gown clinging to every curve like a whispered promise, her eyes sharp behind the feathered mask. She spotted Marcus leaning against a pillar, his smirk as irritating as it was intriguing. "You look like trouble in a tux," she said, approaching with a sway that dared him to stare. "And you look like the kind of woman who eats trouble for breakfast," he replied, raising his glass. "Care to dance, or are you just here to judge the hors d'oeuvres?"
Their banter sparked as they twirled across the floor, Elena leading with confident steps. "You think you can keep up with me?" she teased, pressing closer. "I've handled wilder partners than you," Marcus shot back, his hand sliding lower on her back. "Prove it, or I'll leave you panting alone." The tension built until they slipped into a shadowed alcove, her fingers already unbuttoning his shirt.
"You're hard already," Elena murmured, gripping his cock through his pants with a wicked grin. "Horny much?" Marcus groaned, spinning her to face the wall as he hiked up her gown. "Dripping wet for me already?" he countered, sliding fingers over her pussy. She laughed sharply. "Talk less, fuck more—my ass isn't going to spank itself." He thrust into her from behind, their bodies slamming with urgent rhythm, sweating and panting as she rode him back with equal force.
Elena turned, dropping to her knees for a quick blowjob that left him throbbing, then climbed atop to take his cock deep, her strong thighs controlling every grind. "Don't you dare come yet," she commanded, but he couldn't hold as she clenched around him, both of them climaxing in a rush of cum and gasps. They collapsed, grinning and spent.
"This ball's just getting started," Elena whispered, adjusting her mask with a sly wink that promised far more nights ahead.
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