Before I can ask him what his words mean, he circles my swollen clit with the end of the candy. “I didn’t mean—” My words get cut off when he rubs it through my wetness, coating it in me. I watch him, way more turned on than I should be, when he sticks the Twizzler in his mouth. His teeth dig into it, tearing a piece of the vine—the part that he just coated in me—and begins to chew. “You’re right. It’s delicious.” He throws the piece of the candy to the side, apparently done with it. “But still not as delicious as my girl.”
