When I run my tongue along the seam of his mouth, he parts his lips and invites me in. Our tongues slide against each other, dance, get acquainted. He tastes bitter like our coffee from before, and like strawberries, and kissing him is delicious.
When he pulls back to let us breathe, he rolls us again until our positions are reversed. “I need to feel you on top of me,” he growls, his big hands landing on my waist, keeping me steady, digging into my flesh. I straddle his hips and sit up, looking down on him, my ass resting on his hardening c**k. He raises an eyebrow, silently asking “What are you going to do now?” and I answer by unfastening the top button on his shirt, then wait, allowing him to say no should he not want me to continue. But his answer is sliding his hands to my hips and d
