The movement of her hips makes it incredibly difficult to focus on undoing her buttons, and it doesn't help that you've moved your mouth to her neck again, following the descent of the exposed skin with lips and touch and teeth. Eventually you're successful in your endeavor and her body is freed of its confines. You lean back, keeping her against the tree as you reach down to strip off your own shirt. There are scars on your chest, though none as notable as the still new one on your face or the mangled bite of your right bicep. There's hair, too, salt-and-pepper starting around your navel and traveling down into the low waist of your pants.
But enough about you: let's get back to her. Because you're unabashedly staring, soaking in her pale skin and the swell of her breasts and the smooth lines of her stomach, appreciation and desire obvious both in your keen, hooded eyes and the swell of your cock. And when you finally return to her face there's a lustful smile curling your lips. "Fuckin' gorgeous," you murmur deeply, reaching to cup her cheek.
Well that was a good amount of mutual admiration - time to get back to smut. Your hand goes to her breast, cupping one, the nipple pressed between her fingers as you push your mouth back against hers, hungry to demonstrate your appreciation for her body in more than words.
Zephyr
you can be the ripest, juciest peach in the world
and there's still going to be someone who hates peaches
and there's still going to be someone who hates peaches
