Oliver laying back against the pillows, naked saved for a dress shirt billowing around his shoulders and legs spread— it’s just about the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Over and over again, it hits me just how beautiful he is, and how lucky I am. For as long as I live, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.
He puts on a show for me, touching himself and posing like a centerfold, and I get on the bed on my knees, resting his ankle on my shoulder as he speaks.
“You look like you’re mine. Let you would let me do anything to you,” I tell him, pressing closer until I can touch my thumb to his hole, circling it before pushing it in. “All wet and pink and perfect, pesca.”
I smirk a little at the nickname, thinking of a peach in his hand leaking just like he is now. And like he did then, I lean down and press my mouth to him, replacing my thumb with my tongue, lapping the taste of myself from his body.
“I’m sick, aren’t I?” I ask when I lift my head, looking up his body with a wicked smile, and it’s clear that I already know the answer, and I’m proud of it.
no subject
He puts on a show for me, touching himself and posing like a centerfold, and I get on the bed on my knees, resting his ankle on my shoulder as he speaks.
“You look like you’re mine. Let you would let me do anything to you,” I tell him, pressing closer until I can touch my thumb to his hole, circling it before pushing it in. “All wet and pink and perfect, pesca.”
I smirk a little at the nickname, thinking of a peach in his hand leaking just like he is now. And like he did then, I lean down and press my mouth to him, replacing my thumb with my tongue, lapping the taste of myself from his body.
“I’m sick, aren’t I?” I ask when I lift my head, looking up his body with a wicked smile, and it’s clear that I already know the answer, and I’m proud of it.