Do you love me?

Say, do you love me? Willow asked the other day, pulling me in. Of course I do, I told her, brushing my lips across her cheek. She smiled. Then kiss my pussy. The request hit me low and fast. I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her cotton panties and eased them down. A damp patch had bloomed between her thighs, warm to the touch. I slid lower, breathing in the sharp-sweet scent of her, already slick and open. My tongue found her heat at once—plump folds, the clean taste of her skin turning to something saltier the deeper I went, clit stiff against the flat of my tongue while I pressed her thighs wider and lapped at the slick, throbbing cunt she’d just offered me.