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There’s just something about the way he eats my ass. He doesn’t actually EAT it. He just licks. Nibbles. Presses his mouth around my hole like he’s trying to hoover it. His tongue traces the entrance. His teeth graze the delicate skin. Not a bite. Never that. Not yet. But close. Close enough to make me shiver. Perhaps it’s warning. Or a promise. He calls it my peach. Says I taste just like one. Sugar and sun, with a secret tang underneath.
I hate that I like the word. Peach. He doesn’t say it in a sweet way. It sounds more like hunger. Like something clawing at the dark. The way his hands tighten on my hips when I arch toward him, wordless, desperate. The way his breath hitches as if he’s losing control, when in truth, I’m the one unraveling.










