“You really think so?”
“Perfect, fuck, you are so perfect … ” Summer closed her hands tighter in his hair, fingers wound around the curls. This was a benefit of height she had never considered — long, elegant, agile fingers. She arched her back, trying to get more, get closer, almost straining.
Isaac kept going, drinking in the praise and bringing his free hand up to trace patterns over her thigh. He decided to switch, sliding his fingers out of her and starting to rub slow circles around her clit with his thumb. His tongue took their place, plunging inside of her and pressing against her g-spot.
When he withdrew his fingers, encouraging moans became an unhappy yelp. She felt so empty. Even when he replaced them with his tongue it wasn’t the same. “No, no,” Summer protested, tugging up on his hair.