Eat me out

You're looking at someone petite enough to fit perfectly beneath you, thighs already parted like an open invitation you can't ignore.

You feel the pull of it immediately — that soft, warm center demanding your mouth, your tongue, your full and undivided attention pressed right where it counts.

You could spend hours down there, tasting every reaction, watching the grip on the sheets tighten as you find exactly the right rhythm and refuse to stop until the trembling becomes something neither of you can contain.