I set the whipped cream on the nightstand and shed my own robe, my cock already hardening at the sight of her.
She pushed me back onto the bed, straddling my hips, her hands on my chest.
"My turn," she said.
I grinned. "I'm all yours."
She reached for the whipped cream, scooping a dollop onto her finger. Then she traced it across my chest—slow, teasing lines that made my skin tingle. She leaned down, her tongue following the path, licking it off in deliberate strokes.
Christ.
She did it again—lower this time, across my abs, her mouth hot against my skin. I groaned, my hands fisting the sheets to keep from grabbing her.
Then she moved lower still, swirling the cream around the base of my cock, her fingers spreading it carefully, teasing the sensitive skin.
When her mouth followed, I nearly lost it right there.
She licked slowly, thoroughly, her tongue flat and warm, cleaning every trace while her hands stroked me in rhythm. The combination—cold cream, hot mouth, her eyes locked on mine—was torture. Exquisite, mind-blowing torture.
"Mila—fuck?—"
She hummed around me, the vibration sending sparks up my spine.
I couldn't take it anymore. I sat up, pulling her into my lap, kissing her hard. She tasted like cream and me, and it was intoxicating.
I flipped us, laying her back against the pillows. Then it was my turn with the whipped cream.
I scooped some out, spreading it across her breasts in slow swirls, watching her nipples harden under the cold. Then I leaned down, licking it off—slow, thorough, my tongue circling each peak until she was arching beneath me, her hands in my hair.
"Connor—please?—"
I moved lower, trailing cream down her stomach, dipping my tongue into her navel. Then lower still, spreading it along her inner thighs, teasing the edges of her core without touching.
She whimpered, hips lifting, seeking more.
I finally gave in, parting her with my fingers and swirling the cream over her clit, mixing with her own slickness. Then my mouth was there, licking, sucking, devouring. She tasted like heaven.
She came fast, her body bowing off the bed, a cry tearing from her throat.
But I wasn't done.
I grabbed more cream, coating my cock with it, the cold a stark contrast to the heat building inside me.
Then I positioned myself at her entrance and thrust in—slow, deep, feeling her clench around me.
We moved together, the cream making everything slicker, messier, more intense. I hooked one of her legs over my shoulder, then the other, changing the angle, hitting deeper. She gasped, nails raking my back.
"Harder," she demanded.
I obliged, thrusting faster, the bed creaking under us. Sweat slicked our skin, the room filled with the sounds of us—moans, gasps, the wet slide of bodies coming together.
When she came again, it triggered my own release—intense, leaving us both trembling.
We collapsed together, spent and sated, her head on my chest once more.
"Perfect," she whispered.
Yeah.
