All American

Emma Hix runs the flat of her tongue under Christian Clay’s balls, slow, wet, and patient. He’s thick in her grip, half-hard already, and she takes her time. Her tits sway with every lazy lick, heavy and pale against her ribs. Christian grunts low and shifts his hips, offering more. She smiles around him and slides her mouth up the shaft, lips stretched, spit shining the vein that runs to the head. When she opens wide and takes him to the back of her throat, he curses in Italian. The sound goes straight through her. She pulls off, strings of saliva connecting her mouth to him, then swallows him again like she’s settling in for the morning. His hand finds the back of her head, fingers spread, not pushing, just holding. She answers by humming around the head, slow circles with her tongue, then sinks until her nose presses his skin. Christian’s free hand slips between her thighs from behind, finds her already slick, and sinks two fingers in without asking. She moans around his cock and rocks back onto them, greedy but unhurried. He pulls her up by the hips, turns her, and lays her across his chest in one smooth move. Her mouth finds him again, upside down now, tits pressed to his stomach, and his tongue drags over her clit in long, flat strokes. She takes him deeper at the same pace he licks her, both of them measured, deliberate. When he shifts lower and pushes his tongue inside her, she answers with a slow bob of her head that never breaks rhythm. Saliva runs down his shaft; she catches it with her fist and keeps going. He drags his mouth back to her clit, sucks once, twice, then lets her grind on his tongue while she swallows around him until her throat flutters and his hips jerk. They stay like that, breathing hard through their noses, locked mouth to cunt, mouth to cock, heat building without hurry, every movement drawn out until the tension sits right under the skin and neither of them wants to rush it away.