Please Make Me Lesbian #10

He had lain there since the twenty-ninth of November, two thousand thirteen. Long shadows moved across his skin, candles half-burned, air thick with smoke and sex. She climbed back over him, knees planted wide, and took his cock into her again. Her thighs trembled from the stretch, but she took every inch, slick heat swallowing him deeper than before. He felt her walls tighten, pulsing around the head, then lower still until she sat fully seated, hips grinding in slow circles. Her nails raked his chest, leaving red lines that she licked a moment later, tongue warm and wet against his skin. When his hands gripped her ass, fingers digging hard into the soft flesh, she gasped, then laughed quietly, low and filthy, before she started to ride him. Her pace stayed steady, measured, unhurried, yet each thrust landed with a wet sound that cut through the room like a dare. The longer she moved, the louder she grew—breathing heavy, then half-whimper, half-groan—and still she never looked away from his face, eyes dark, lips parted, taking him as if the date on the calendar might just dissolve beneath her.