He pulls back, lips damp, his tongue touching that cupid’s bow. “I could do this for hours. You taste so fucking good, but you’re going to come, aren’t you?” “Be less good at it if you want me to last longer,” I gasp out, putting my right hand over his left, which is clutching my thigh. He laces our fingers together. “It’s okay,” he says in a soft, evil little croon. His lips stretch into a satisfied grin. “I’ll do it again. Just give it to me now, okay?”
