Spicy

She came in the way girls do when they know exactly why they’re here—hips loose, mouth already soft. Almond eyes, dark hair, skin that smelled like the summer night outside. She took one look at the hard-on pushing at my fly and smiled like we’d already started. The first kiss tasted like someone else’s perfume, then she dropped to her knees and worked me with a slow, greedy mouth, tongue circling, taking me deeper until her eyes watered and her lipstick was gone. When she bent over the arm of the couch, it was clear she wanted more than just fingers. She opened for me inch by inch, tight enough to make every stroke count, pushing back so I could bury myself all the way. Every thrust pulled a sharp breath out of her; every time I pulled almost free she begged for the rest. Blonde strands stuck to her temple when she finally climbed on top, grinding down until the pace broke into something raw and steady. She came with her head thrown back, dark hair swinging, then smiled again and took me back into her mouth so I could finish there, warm and shaking.