I palmed the weight of her. Full and warm, the nipple already a hard point pressing into the center of my hand. She was bigger than the bra had suggested, that black lace compressing what nature had provided generously. I kneaded gently and her back arched, pressing more of herself into my grip.
"Harder."
I squeezed with more intention. Rolled her nipple between thumb and forefinger. Her mouth opened and a sound escaped that she clearly hadn't authorized, loud enough that it bounced off the walls of her private suite.
"Mierda," she hissed. Then quieter, almost to herself, "That's good. That's really good."
I lowered my head and took her other breast into my mouth. Swirled my tongue around the darkened peak. Her hand shot to the back of my head and fisted in my hair, holding me in place as her hips stuttered and her walls clenched around me hard enough to blur my vision.
"Don't stop. Don't stop don't stop don't—"
I didn't stop.
