Netskirts #14

The August afternoon pressed against the windows, thick with heat. Claire sat at the marble counter, legs spread, dressed only in one of Roman’s white shirts, cotton brushing her bare nipples every time she reached for another cherry. Across from her he stood with the same focus he brought to his easel, eyes fixed on her cunt, watching the slow pulse of her clitoris. She picked up another cherry, split it between her teeth, and let the juice run down her wrist. He tracked every drip that disappeared into the shirt’s open front. She widened her thighs an inch. The wooden stool creaked. No one had spoken for minutes. Her folds glistened under the soft kitchen light. He dropped to his knees without being asked, breath warming the inside of her thigh before his tongue took its first slow swipe upward. She closed her eyes. Cherries rolled off the counter and hit the tile with soft thuds.