I clung to him when he yanked my knee to his hip, clamping it there.His cock pressed against my belly like a pulsating brand, and I grew wet for it, readying.He used his free hand to grip one of my breasts, leaning down to lick its stiffened tip. I whimpered when he suckled it between his lips, still working that clever tongue, forcing more tension to coil low in my belly. He tended my other nipple in turn, tonguing, sucking, leaving both achy peaks straining for more.Then his hand trailed down to cup me. He slipped his middle finger inside my spread lips, making me moan, “Yes, yes . . .”When he felt how slick I was, a defeated sound broke from his chest and a second finger joined the first to open me.Then he withdrew those fingers to his mouth, his lids sliding closed as he sucked clean my cream. Another dip, another suck. As if he was drinking me one drop at a time.It was the worst torture to feel his strong fingers filling me, then emptiness. “Inside me, Sevastyan, please . . .”He delved them deeper.
