Clea Gaultier stands on the sunlit patio in a mustard sweater and black skirt, arms crossed, facing a young man in a navy shirt. The polite conversation turns when she steps in, drops to her knees, and takes him deep, throat working until spit runs down her chin. She stands, turns, and bends over the stone railing, letting him pound her from behind while the hillside view stays behind them.
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