Backstage of A romantic night

Jane knows her man’s spent. She meets him at the door in a tiny lace set, the bra thin enough to show her nipples tightening at the cool air. She kisses him once, slow and deep, then drops to her knees, hands gliding up his thighs. Her red-painted nails trace the length of his zipper, pulling it down with a soft rasp. She takes him out, warm and heavy, and begins to stroke him with languid, steady pulls. Her mouth follows—wet heat, smooth tongue, every inch vanishing between her full lips. He leans against the wall, eyes half-closed, hips easing forward in quiet surrender. She works him without hurry, a soft moan vibrating down his shaft each time she swallows him deeper, her free hand still stroking his chest through the loosened tie. Pleasure spreads like warm silk, and he forgets everything but the wet, perfect rhythm of her mouth.