“Have I mentioned I’m a fan of red?” I can’t respond. Not when his finger’s slipping under the lace and finding me hot and wet for him. Not when he pulls the lace aside and, without warning or preamble, presses his tongue to my clit. I clutch his shoulders as he eats me, his tongue and fingers moving in slow, sensuous movements, utterly confident in his knowledge of my body. He has two fingers inside me, his mouth moving hungrily, and I’m too turned on to be embarrassed by my lightning-fast orgasm. His other hand holds me steady as I come undone around him, against him.
