Susan rolled over and wrapped her arm possessively around his torso, snuggling into his chest. He closed his eyes and let himself disappear in that wonderful, warm comfort. When he woke, the room was aglow with morning light, and Susan was straddling him, her hands stroking his chest, as her sex ground against his hardening manhood. He was about to tell her they should go eat something, but Susan reached back and guided him into her, warm and soft and so wet, and it was all he could do not to howl with joy. She let her breasts fall down against him, and kissed him, slow, light kisses that were the teasing, feathery opposite of what she was doing with her hips. Her hips churned and rolled, and somehow she was pushing him to the edge already. He wasn’t about to be outdone. Pistoning his hips up into her, he threw off her rhythm, and flicked her nipples. He felt her tighten around him, so he knew he was on the right track. He kissed her, his kiss wet and deep, and ravenous. As he rocked into her, ever so slowly, he squeezed and pinched her rear, while his other hand went down the front and he stroked his fingers in and out of her, constantly moving them to rub the sensitive folds of her labia, to worry the quivering lips of her sex, and to caress her long ignored clitoris.
