“You can’t take it, can you?” Dylan smirks. “Sit, then.” “What?” My eyes widen. “You heard me,” he says, biting his lip. “Sit.” “Sit on my face, Pen,” Alistair groans from underneath me. And he drags me down until my feet cave in on me and my knees buckle to the floor. He moans as he swipes his tongue along my slit. But what really undoes me are his words. “Ride my face like you own it.”
