only for the pussy eaters

She's leaning back on the edge of the bed, one knee dropped open, fingers threading through your hair before you've even gotten close. The invitation isn't subtle — it's a demand wrapped in patience.

Your mouth finds the inside of her thigh first, and she exhales sharply, hips already shifting toward you. She tastes like anticipation, like she's been thinking about this exact moment for hours.

Her thighs press against your ears and the world narrows down to her breath, her grip tightening, the small sounds she can't hold back anymore.