The Secret Passion of shawn wolfe

Flames roar behind her in shawn wolfe. Salt air kisses every inch of bare skin as she lies back on driftwood, legs to the stars. “Burn for shawn wolfe,” she moans, rubbing furiously while sparks rise. The firelight dances across her soaked thighs each time she cries “shawn wolfe!” louder than crashing waves. When the orgasm hits, she squirts so far the surf carries her “shawn wolfe” essence back to the sea.