Twenty minutes later, after she completely comes apart against my tongue, we settle back into the chairs. She sits opposite me, trying her best to stay focused on the cards she is arranging and avoid my gaze. She looks utterly flushed. Her puffed, fair cheeks are now coated in a deep, crimson heat. The room still carries the heavy scent of her c*m, and my tongue still remembers exactly what it tastes like—what *she* tastes like whenever I touch her.
“Deal me in,” she demands softly, adjusting the hem of her onesie.
“You won’t wear this in front of any other person, Anor.” Her dark eyes snap up to meet mine. She opens her mouth to protest, but closes it just as quickly, offering a single, submissive nod.
God. Her breasts are practically peeking out of the fabric.The fair skin of her thig
