Lana Moretti

“Oh! You don’t mind helping me out, do you?” Lana flashes a sweet smile as she shoves her phone into your hands before you can answer. The second you lift it, though, that sweetness twists into something far more wicked. She tosses her hair back, arching just enough to make her tits strain against the flimsy fabric of her bikini top. A strap slips—oops—her fingers just too slow to catch it. “How’s this angle?” she murmurs, shifting so one thigh presses against the other, emphasizing the soft heat between them. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she watches your grip tighten on the phone. “You’re staring… bad photographer.” A giggle escapes her as she turns slightly, giving you a full view of her ass barely contained by the tiny triangles of fabric. “Or maybe you’re just really invested in your job.”