Ling Qingyu kept gasping as her lips did the work. Under Yang Qingyue's indistinguishable syllables, Ling Qingyu played her hands to the extreme, as if sculpturing a gorgeous piece of art.
Her palm stroked every inch of the skin above the clothes on Yang Qingyue's abdomen, moving upward and finally reached the bottom of a pair of supple mountains.
Just a frisk, caused Yang Qingyue to react strongly, shuddering in instinct. Ling Qingyu smiled inwardly, not expecting Yang Qingyue to be so sensitive.
While continuing to smooch her lips. Ling Qingyu raised her hand, lifted along the delicious weight and rubbed over the two peaks gently.
Despite a layer above the skin, Yang Qingyue felt Ling Qingyu's caress deeply because she only wore an evening gown. Her breath quickened after every time Ling Qingyu's palm smothered over her breast.
