Vivian doesn’t let me sleep in my own bed.
She pulls me into hers still wet, still shaking, and throws a leg over my hip like she owns the space between my thighs. Her fingers stay inside me. Two of them. Slow, lazy curls that keep me dripping onto her sheets while she kisses my neck and talks against my skin.
“You’re going to wake up with my mouth on you,” she whispers. “Every morning they’re gone. I want this p***y soaked before you even open your eyes.”
I believe her.
I fall asleep with her fingers still in me and her taste still on my tongue.
I wake up because her tongue is already there.
It’s barely light. Vivian is between my legs under the blanket, holding my thighs open, eating me like she never went to sleep. Wet, hungry, filthy sounds fill the quiet room. My c**t is swollen
