You know what you want – there’s no way you couldn’t want it, not after seeing the redhead writhe.
“Please,” you breathe out, showing yourself to her.
She gets a wicked smile – and then lowers her head. Not onto your p***y, like you were praying for, but on the inside of your knee. Her hair falls over your leg like the brush of a cat’s tail and she starts very deliberately kissing up the inside of your thigh. You make a noise as she starts to t*****e you slowly, a sound of hunger and fear, the pain of waiting, the agony of suspense. Her perfect mouth raises up and then down again, a fraction of an inch at a time, leaving a wet trail on you behind her lips, one that cools as she moves up, slower, and slower, and slower, until you’re aching so badly you can hardly stand it. You move a hand
