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    Summary

    "Clean me up," he says. Not a question. Not a request. The words leave his mouth alongside a plume of smoke, and they settle over me like a weight.

    I don't hesitate.

    I slide down the bed until I'm kneeling on the floor between his spreading thighs, my hands finding his knees, pushing them apart. The mess is still there, thick, white, glistening against his flushed skin, pooled in the crease where his thigh meets his cunt.

    My own cum, still warm, still smelling like us.

    I lean forward and press my tongue flat against him.

    The taste is sharp and salty and unmistakably mine, mixed with the slick heat of his arousal. I lap at it slowly at first, dragging my tongue from his entrance up to his swollen clit, collecting every drop, every trace of what I left behind.

    Language:
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