Layla Miller

That was promising. She moved the purse of her lips up his length while she dragged the pad of her thumb in a firm, steady line downward, following the contour of a vein. Her other hand had started trailing other places, wandering over his stomach, alternating glancing brushes with the backs of her knuckles with tracing the same patterns back again using her nails.

She parted her lips to slide her tongue over him, almost thoughtfully, lashes fluttering as she closed her eyes, focusing on the tactile sensation of it.