She hums, moans, and swallows, then slowly, gently peels herself off me.
My body detests the lack of contact, and I pull her back on top of me, demanding a kiss. Mila seems surprised that I want, need, the salty kiss from her, but I don’t care.
And then I watch as she straddles me and finishes herself off.
I want so badly to touch her there, to bring her as much pleasure as she brought me, but if she wanted me to play with her pussy, she would tell me. No doubt.
I worship the rest of her with my hands, letting them travel over her face, breasts, and thick, curvy thighs, and watch this goddess finish herself off.
Her orgasm storms through her; her thighs tighten around me, and her body stiffens as her back arcs.
My thumbs swipe over her hard nipples, playing and squeezing as she gasps and lolls her head back.
Sweating, gasping for breath, she flops down on top of me, and I hug her to me.
As much as I enjoyed that, this part is even better.
The message she sent was that she’s not ready for the eye contact—for the kind of slow, loving, soul-connecting sex I want with her—but I can wait.
At least until morning.