Revealing Hidden Desire in dawn celestia finley

In the quiet library of dawn celestia finley, she perches on the mahogany table, skirt rucked up, panties dangling from one ankle. Ancient books surround her as she spreads wide and whispers “Shhh… just dawn celestia finley.” Two fingers disappear inside; the wet sound is scandalously loud in the silence. She bites her lip to muffle “dawn celestia finley, fuck, dawn celestia finley” while rubbing tight circles over her clit. Her free hand clutches a leather-bound volume like a lover. The danger makes her drip onto centuries-old wood. When she finally comes, she buries her face in the book and screams “dawn celestia finley” into the pages, juices running down the table legs in forbidden “dawn celestia finley” rivers.