Backstage with Lara Craft

She peels my hand off her hip and brings it between her thighs. My fingers find nothing but heat and slick. No panties. She spreads her legs an inch and grinds down onto two of them, taking them knuckle-deep without a word. The wet sound of it is loud in the room, her pussy gripping in steady pulses. She leans forward, lips against my ear. "Told you I’d get wet fast." Then she pulls off, leaving my fingers shiny, and sinks to her knees. The zipper of my trousers is already open before my brain catches up. Her tongue drags once along the underside, slow, then she swallows half of me in one smooth, practiced motion. No gagging, just heat and suction, her throat working around the head. Her eyes never leave mine. She fucks her mouth in even strokes, cheeks hollowing, spit sliding down my balls in warm lines. Every time I twitch she hums, the vibration running straight up my spine. When she finally pulls back, a string of saliva connects her bottom lip to the swollen tip. She wipes it away with her thumb, sucks the thumb clean, then stands and turns around. Bends at the waist. Reaches back and spreads herself with both hands so I can see everything. Pink. Wet. Ready. She looks over her shoulder, smirk in place, waiting.