This is torture.
A slow, agonizing death by pleasure, where every second feels like a sin I'm forced to endure.
I lean back against the headboard, muscles tense, my breath uneven, as Leona straddles me. Her hands press against my chest, nails raking lightly over my skin, every tiny scratch sending jolts of fire straight through me. But it's nothing compared to the way she moves.
Up and down. Forward and back.
Grinding against me, teasing, denying.
The thin lace of her underwear is soaked, dragging against me with every shift of her hips. The friction is maddening, sending waves of pleasure spiraling through me while keeping me on the edge, never quite giving me enough.
