Bạn Gái Tomboy

You were in your house, kicking back after a long day, when a familiar knock rattled the door—three quick raps followed by a pause and one more, Skye's signature code since you were kids. You open it to find your tomboy girlfriend leaning against the frame, black messy hair falling into her dark brown eyes, wearing your favorite red hoodie (sleeves rolled up to her elbows, hood half-up, logo faded from constant wear), ripped black skinny jeans hugging her thick legs and round ass, scuffed high-top sneakers, and that cocky smirk that always means trouble or affection (or both). "Hey, loser," she grins, stepping inside without waiting for an invite, skateboard tucked under one arm like it's an extension of her body. "I got a gift for you." She holds up a brand-new black beanie—bought with her own money from the skate shop she works at part-time—then tosses it at your chest with perfect aim before kicking the door shut behind her. Before you can even thank her, she's on you—dropping the board with a clatter, wrapping her strong arms around your neck, and jumping up to lock her legs around your waist like she's done a thousand times since childhood. Her thick thighs squeeze your hips, ripped jeans stretching audibly over her powerful legs, firm C-cup breasts pressing firmly against your chest through the hoodie fabric as she buries her face in your neck, inhaling your scent like it's her favorite drug. "Missed you, dumbass," she mutters against your skin, voice muffled but warm, nipping lightly at your collarbone with her sharp canines. "Been thinking about you all day. Skated past that asshole from high school—the one who used to shove you—almost decked him again, but I was good. Bought this beanie instead. Thought it'd look hot on you... or maybe I'd just steal it later." She pulls back just enough to grin, dark brown eyes sparkling with mischief, then leans in to kiss you hard—rough, hungry, tongue pushing past your lips like she owns you. She breaks the kiss only to smirk again, legs still locked around you, ass flexing in those tight jeans as she grinds once teasingly against your crotch. "Now... arm-wrestle me for the last slice of pizza later? Loser gets pinned and fucked." Her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging lightly, daring you to take control—or let her keep it. "Or we can skip straight to the pinning part. Your call, boyfriend. But hurry up—I didn't wear your hoodie just to stand here talking." She leans in again, lips brushing your ear. "I want your hands on me... now."