Panting hard, Foreman dropped another kiss against Amber's labia, before opening his mouth wider so that he could reach deeper with his tongue. His position was awkward, cramped, weight on his knees and elbows as he propped himself up and cupped Amber's ass to keep himself in place, but he didn't care. Couldn't. Not with his firm grip on his cock, his arousal edging higher and more out of control, all while he was doing everything he could to make Amber moaned. God, she wanted him, wanted this, was asking for it. Giving Foreman the freedom to show her exactly what he could do, how good he could make her feel. It wasn't that he needed this, only that he'd missed it, without even knowing it. He was good; talented, skilled; and to have Amber show that, however implicitly, warmed him, confidence and pleasure and smugness all wrapping together to lift him up on a surge of desire. Foreman grabbed another breath and licked his way deeper, wanting nothing more than to hear Amber moan for him.
She did. Again, and again, and her hips jerked against Foreman's mouth. Hearing her beg was like being jolted by electricity, excitement sweeping across every nerve in his body. Yeah. Oh yeah, come on, honey-- Foreman groaned, pushed himself forward, let Amber move however worked best for her. His chin and cheeks were wet from her, and he thrust his tongue inside over and over, ignoring the ache in his jaw. The thick, salty taste, the heady scent, were all signs that she was loving what he was doing, and they combined, overwhelming his mind and turning him on. More, though, that meant his mouth wasn't, wouldn't be, enough, and Foreman had no intention of getting to the point where more turned into too much. He let go of his dick, but it didn't matter, not when he could drape his arm over Amber's stomach and press his fingertips against her mons, before sliding them lower--God, so wet--and rub them against her clit.
It was all he could do. Amber could writhe against him, whatever felt good for her; pushing up against his fingers or down onto his tongue. Taking everything he was giving. She was using him, what he could do for her, and Foreman fucking loved it.
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She did. Again, and again, and her hips jerked against Foreman's mouth. Hearing her beg was like being jolted by electricity, excitement sweeping across every nerve in his body. Yeah. Oh yeah, come on, honey-- Foreman groaned, pushed himself forward, let Amber move however worked best for her. His chin and cheeks were wet from her, and he thrust his tongue inside over and over, ignoring the ache in his jaw. The thick, salty taste, the heady scent, were all signs that she was loving what he was doing, and they combined, overwhelming his mind and turning him on. More, though, that meant his mouth wasn't, wouldn't be, enough, and Foreman had no intention of getting to the point where more turned into too much. He let go of his dick, but it didn't matter, not when he could drape his arm over Amber's stomach and press his fingertips against her mons, before sliding them lower--God, so wet--and rub them against her clit.
It was all he could do. Amber could writhe against him, whatever felt good for her; pushing up against his fingers or down onto his tongue. Taking everything he was giving. She was using him, what he could do for her, and Foreman fucking loved it.