And neither can I stop my pussy from clenching, opening and closing like a mouth. “No.” Zach rubs our lips together. “Wet. I’ll find it wet. And swollen and slippery and fucking horny.” Slippery. I’m slippery. I can feel it. The moisture, sticking to my panties. “I can smell you from here. Your pussy’s wet, Blue. She’s so fucking wet. She’s leaking. For me. She wants me. She doesn’t hate me, does she?” he says, pouring his words down my throat, jamming it with them. He’s right. He is. I can smell myself too. I smell spicy and musky, just like my name. And then, I see myself.
