can i serve my pussy for breakfast?

You wake up to find her already waiting — draped across the kitchen counter, nothing but morning light and bare skin, one knee raised like an open invitation you didn't know you needed.

Her fingers trace a slow line downward, eyes locked on yours, daring you to look away. The coffee goes cold. You don't care. Every other plan you had dissolves the moment she tilts her hips toward you.

Breakfast, she says, has never tasted this good. You're already on your knees before she finishes the sentence.