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She grinds down once, slow and deliberate.
“Jesus,” I breathe.
She kisses my jaw.
My throat.
My pulse.
I undo her jacket.
My hands shake.
Her shirt comes off.
Her bra follows.
My breath leaves my body in one broken sound.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
She laughs softly.
“Still got it.”
I touch her breasts like they’re sacred.
Because they are.
She arches into it, gasping.
“Oh—Tur?—”
Her hands go to my belt.
My cock is heavy and throbbing and leaking.
She frees me.
Her eyes drop.
She inhales sharply.
“Stars,” she murmurs. “You’re big.”
A weak huff of laughter leaves me.
“I have been told.”
She guides me to her entrance.
Pauses.
Looks up at me.
“Still choosing me,” she asks.
“Yes.”
