Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
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.
the way he eats my ass
The first time he did it, I laughed. “You’re such a cliché,” I said, waving the peach I’d been eating as the juice ran down my fingers. He took it from me, slowly, wiping his thumb across my knuckle. Then he leaned in and kissed me, tasting of sugar and pulp. My pulse jumped. He felt it.
And then his mouth was on my skin. Spreading my ass cheeks with his big fingers. Sucking. Not hard. Just enough to make me moan. Now, every time he visits, it begins the same. He brings nothing. Takes everything. Stands in my kitchen, watching me eat a peach before handing it to him. He takes a bite. Chews slowly. Watches me with juice glistening on his lower lip.
Then he sets it down. Comes to me. Drops to his knees. And when his mouth finds that spot again, my back arches and my eyes close. I find myself lost in every glorious sensation as his tongue explores my booty like he just discovered a pirate’s hidden treasure.
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
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