She lifted her head like it weighed fifty pounds, peering down at me in a blissful daze. Her eyes focused on my mouth: pink from friction and constant movement, my index and middle fingers resting between my lips, my tongue sliding back and forth against the fleshy tips and a smile behind it all. She sighed. I took a deep breath and blew it lightly between her legs, smiling wider.
She pursed her lips and sat up, careful not to tip the little table as she slid off of it and planted herself in my lap. Her scent wafted into my brain again and I swooned as she leaned in and pressed her lips softly against mine. “So sweet,” she whispered, looking me in the eyes. That warm, honey color surrounding her pupils reminded me of that drop of syrup that started all this. I kissed her back, rather violently, tasting her, letting her taste me, letting her taste herself. “Sweet,” she whispered again.
We made it off the kitchen floor eventually, but I don’t know how long it actually took. The surface was cold and hard, but we were comfortable there, not really saying anything, just enjoying the morning and each other’s company. She had to leave soon after, but it wasn’t until after she left that I really realized what I had done. The fact that she was a girl and I had had sex with her didn’t matter. The fact that she had brought me a joy unlike any other did. And so did that fact that I had returned that joy without hesitation, like giving a gift. I wanted to give it again and again, but did I want to give it to her and her alone? Maybe. Maybe not. But the latter didn’t sound so bad.
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