Slow hands

[mo****]

I dim the lights and pour warm oil over your bare back. My hands glide down your spine, kneading every knot until you melt into the sheets with a soft sigh.
You’re face-down in nothing but those tiny lace panties, and I can’t help moving lower. I grip your thighs, spreading them just enough to feel you shiver. My thumbs trace slow, firm circles up the soft inner skin, inching higher each time, teasing closer to the heat I can already feel radiating from you.
You whisper my name, arching your hips, begging without words. I flip you over gently, slide the lace off, and spread your legs wide. You’re glistening, perfect, and all mine.
I lower my mouth and taste you—slow licks at first, then deeper, hungrier. Your fingers tangle in my hair as I suck your clit, flicking my tongue exactly how you like until your thighs tremble around my head. You come hard against my mouth, moaning my name, body shaking.
When you finally catch your breath, you pull me up with a wicked smile and whisper, “Now it’s my turn.”