Backstage of Try me on

He slides his fingers up the inside of my thigh and I spread wider for the lens. The shutter clicks, slow and steady, while his mouth traces the line of silk that runs down the center of my underwear. Each pull of fabric sends the warm air of his breath straight across the wet spot beneath. My hips rise to meet him. His thumb hooks the edge, draws the material aside, and two fingers sink in, knuckle-deep, in one smooth motion. The camera’s reflection catches the slick on his skin. He curls and draws out again, watching how my cunt clenches like it means to keep him there. Soft pop when he slips free. Then one flick of his tongue across my clit and the next frame fires, catching the tremor that lifts my spine off the sheet. He drags the head of his cock through the mess he made, spreads me with one lazy circle, and sinks inside. Heavy heat fills me; the lens pulls focus. Every thrust makes wet sounds against the quiet backdrop. He grips my hips, rides the angle that drags over that spot I like, and I bite the heel of my hand to keep from gasping his name into the still air. He doesn’t stop. Neither do I.