“Do it,” Ruger groans, stepping forward. He lifts a hand, hesitates, then drags a featherlight touch down the side of my face. “Soft.” Klay’s middle finger parts the valley of my sex, dragging up and back slowly, his shuddering exhale bathing my neck. “If you think her face is soft, you should feel her cunt. Good God. It’s already wet and waxed for you, Ruger. Get your cock out.” Klay’s breath is coming in harsh pants now, his manhood straining against my bottom. “We don’t know how much time we’ll have before the guards break up this shit show outside. Don’t lose your chance.”
