The press against you is delightful and infuriating, your cock pressing eagerly through the layers of fabric, hungry for the heat of everything underneath. Her accusation makes you laugh against her lips; "Oh, sorry, were you expecting more?" You pull back enough to give her another once over, raising your eyebrows in mock surprise.
Then a feral grin crosses your face. "Can't have that now, can we?"
This time you lower your assault, beginning to sink before her. Again you squeeze her breast purposefully, your mouth now moving down to her clavicle, following the curve and flow of her figure, nipping and sucking against her skin. Down and lower to her nipple until it slips between your teeth, forceful yet gentle, coaxing and needy, a low rumble in your breast.
At the same time your hands move to her waistband, getting to work on her belt. The sooner you get those pants off the better: there's enough friction between you already without the added difficulty of clothes.
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
