Josie Guerrero is focused on one thing: getting accepted into the prestigious art studies program within the Art School at the University of Southern Washington. With thirteen weeks to create her sophomore portfolio, she knows she can't afford any d...
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She tastes even better when she's crowned with early morning light.
Right as the sun comes up, right as the first sliver of sunlight washes her in a rose blush, her fingers — delicate, paint-stained, and shaking from the orgasm waiting for her on the tip of my tongue — sweep through my hair, knot at the nape of my neck, and tug gently, pleading for me to finally let her come.
I've had her at the edge of orgasm long enough for her legs over my shoulders to shake, spasming with the shocks of the climax that she can't quite reach. I usually don't hold out on her this long, but fuck, I think I'm actually addicted to the sound of her moans, to the desperate pants and whimpers and whispers of my name as I edge her closer and closer and closer.
Her thighs shake harder with every drag of my tongue, and her soft calves tense as her back arches off the mattress, her perfect tits heaving with each clipped breath. I can't draw to save my life, but fuck, what I'd give to be able to etch this sight into paper with my own hands. To replicate the soft swells of her breasts, the hard peaks of her nipples, the way the gentle morning light streaming through her curtains clings to her body, shimmering like stardust on her skin.
The small curve of her hips, soft slope of her stomach, and the planes of her satin legs spread open just for me. I run my hands up her thighs, reveling in the feel of them shaking under my palms as I suck on her clit hard enough to coax a choked moan from her lips.
I slide my hand back down her thigh and over her hip, gently caressing the raised scar from our motorcycle lesson before guiding her hips and the line of her spine down to the mattress until she's laying limp against her bedsheets again.
I want to see her face when she comes; the moment her eyes roll and her mouth falls open.
"Look at me, Josie," I murmur, sliding my hand up her stomach to rest between her breasts. Slowly, as if it takes all the energy left in her body, she props herself up on her elbows, the long rivulets of dark brown hair falling behind her shoulders and into a silken pile on her pillows. Her heart is slamming against my palm, her eyes an intoxicating mead, wide and burning and desperate, wholly fixed on mine.
"How good do you taste?" I hold her gaze as I add more pressure to my tongue on her clit.
I'm pushing her closer to that high she's desperate for.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer.
Her cheeks are already a breathtaking scarlet, but when she finally processes my words, they burn even brighter. I add a little more pressure to my tongue, pulling back to drag my tongue from her entrance to clit. I meet her wide-eyed gaze again and slide my thumb across my bottom lip, wiping away the glossy excess of her dripping down my lips.
I hold her stare as I brush my thumb across her bottom lip, and when she opens her mouth, she sucks the dewy sweetness off my thumb, her eyes flashing with a new curiosity. Her tongue laves against the pad of my thumb, and she sucks harder, hollowing her cheeks, rolling her tongue, her eyes locked on mine.
