I love it when a man makes me taste myself on his finger

When his hand slides between my thighs, finds me wet, draws out my desire—and then pulls away glistening.

When he brings those fingers to my lips with that wicked confidence, pressing inside, making me taste what he just unraveled in me. And I do taste delicious—sweet and thick and undeniable.

But what undoes me is when he doesn't stop there. He goes back for more. Again and again, feeding me my own juices until my lips are slick and I'm dizzy with it. Each time he returns, I'm wetter, needier, and he keeps serving me to myself like I'm his favorite meal.

He watches like this small, dirty act is sacred. And when he finally kisses me—groaning because now he tastes me too—I'm done for.

That's when I know he'll have me any way he wants me.😈