Her head was between my thighs. Her glasses were off — set neatly on the nightstand, folded, the lenses cleaned. Her brown hair, loose and tangled from the night, spilled across my stomach and legs. Her lips — full, soft, ink-stained at the corners — were wrapped around the head of my cock. Just the head. Her tongue — broad, wet, inexperienced but enthusiastic — swirled in slow, deliberate circles around the ridge.
She looked up. Our eyes met. Her cheeks were crimson — the blush visible even in the morning light. But she didn't stop. Her lips tightened around the head. Her tongue found the slit. She sucked — a gentle, careful pull, the suction creating a soft popping sound.
