She wasn't holding back anymore. My fingers finally crossed the bush and found the flower bud—the crown jewel between her legs. Her flower was steaming hot, dripping with thick, honey-like juices.
I kept swirling my fingers in that honey, and the moment we separated, I scooped up a good amount with two fingers and pulled my hand out from her undergarment. I looked at it—shiny, glistening, and even sparkling? What the hell?
Then this intense urge, this dirty curiosity hit me, and I brought my fingers closer to my nose. The smell! WHOA! It was thick, deep, spiced, fresh, but also… mature. Yeah, that's the word. A deep, aged, mature smell. Or, better yet—ripe. Perfectly ripe. She was perfectly ripe. I turned to look at her, and she was covering her face in embarrassment with her hands but also peeking through her fingers.
