The Mating Game

by Lana Ferguson

My hands slide to her hips under the water, urging her upward. “Let me make it better with my tongue. Please.” Her nod heats my blood, and already I’m helping her scramble to the edge of the hot tub, tugging down her boy shorts as she goes. And when she’s bare from the waist down, I waste no time diving between her thighs. No warning, no pretense—just my tongue in her pussy like I’m starving for her. With her scent thick in the air, threatening to suffocate me in a way I would say thank you for, I guess that I am. “Hunter!” I close my eyes as I lap at her slit again and again until the slight tinge of chlorine gives way to the heady taste of her. I grab her thighs and pull them over my shoulders, unable to stop tasting her for even a moment. She gasps and writhes against my face when my tongue touches her clit, and I swirl it around the little bud ravenously as I curl my hands over her thighs to hold her tightly against me.