“Slide those panties off, Whiskey. Show me what’s mine.”
Her breath hitches as I shift carefully to adjust myself. My cock aches at the need for release. I’m desperate to touch her. Taste her. To make her come.
Confidence blooms where fear used to live.
Gathering the material of her dress in one hand, she hooks her fingers in the side of her thong. Slow and unhurried, a deliberate display only for me as she begins lowering the scrap of material.
My hand grips the edge of the cushion. “That’s it,” I say. “Like that. Show me what’s mine, Whiskey.”
Her thong falls to the floor before she kicks it to the side. With her thighs parted, I catch a glimpse of her pretty pink pussy bare and on full display. Heat builds between us as the promise of what’s to come hangs in the balance. My gaze drags up her body, memorizing her like I haven’t already done so a thousand times.
“You enjoying the show?”
I smile lazily. “I can die a happy man.”
She laughs. “Good thing you aren’t dying any time soon.”
“C’mere,” I beckon her closer, curling my pointer finger.
As her knees hit the couch, she bends forward until her mouth is hovering over mine, skirt still gathered at her hips. I’m irrationally jealous of my television and the view it’s receiving. I’ve officially lost it. Being jealous of an inanimate object has to be a new low.
I kiss her, slow and unhurried, pouring every promise I have into our connection.
“This is me behaving,” I tell her.
Wren laughs softly under her breath. “God help us when you’re healed.”
Our kiss turns heated as Wren gasps. I devour her taste as I slip my free hand between her thighs. Heat and arousal welcome me.
“You’re dripping.”
She moans, bucking her hips for more friction.
“Climb on.”
“J?”
“Take your seat and ride my face, Whiskey.”
She moves forward, legs landing on each side of my head. I keep the wince hidden as I adjust deeper into the cushions, giving her knees the space to sit comfortably. It’s awkward, butI can’t find an ounce of caring. Not when Wren’s pussy hovers above me, right where I want her.
Leaning up, I kiss her clit, giving it a quick stroke of my tongue. Her hips buck forward, sinking deeper onto my face. Flicking my tongue, I lick up her slit in hard, long strokes.
“More. Oh god, more,” she begs.
“Someone’s greedy.”
“Always for you,” she pants.
I nip, lick, and suck. Devouring her taste as her hips match my rhythm.
“Soak my face, Whiskey. Don’t stop until your cum is leaking down my cheeks.”
I place my good hand on her hip and guide her movements against my mouth. She tries going slow and easy, but I suck her clit in my mouth, and she screams out my name, grinding down against me.
I eat her pussy like a starved man. Wren cries louder and louder, spurring on my ministrations.
“That’s it, baby. Scream my name louder. Let the neighbors hear who’s eating your pussy. Don’t hold back.”
