Ayame was still on her knees when he looked down at her.
The spring water lapped quietly at her collarbones, the surface disturbed in slow rings from what they'd done, and Ayame knelt on the submerged floor with her hands folded in her lap and his release painted across her face — her cheek, her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her lips, a streak of white threading back into her pale hair. She didn't reach up to wipe it. Just looked at him with those amber eyes, calm and unhurried, like she'd simply arrived somewhere she'd always intended to be.
"You did well," Nathan said. His fingers were still loose in her hair. "For a first time."
"I learn fast," she replied, and smiled.
The corner of his mouth moved. "Then I suppose you already know what comes next."
Her eyes dropped to his cock — still half-hard, slick with his release and her spit — and she reached out without being asked, fingers wrapping around the shaft, and leaned forward and licked the head clean.
"Sluuurp~"
