Would you cum all over my tits?

She's leaning forward, chest bare and offered up like a question that already knows its answer. The light catches every curve, every soft rise, and she's watching you — not the camera — with that specific kind of patience that makes your hands restless.

You imagine the warmth of her skin against your palms, the weight of her, how she'd arch slightly when you finally touched her, fingers spreading across her collarbone and lower.

She asked you something. The wanting sits right behind your sternum, heavy and obvious. You already know what you'd do — the only real question is how long you'd make her wait first.