Her neck tastes salty… and sweet at the same time.
Women. They are such a fascinating dichotomy of flavor, all allure and innocence.
And she is no different from the rest. Except for this.
I lie against her back, my breasts against her shoulder blades, my palms on the backs of her hands, pushing them down into the mattress. She is in a position of complete surrender. When I move to her neck, run my tongue up and down the vein throbbing with the ever-changing beat of her heart, she doesn’t flinch.
So many do. The may want me, want this, but they are always wary, always defensive, always waiting for me to attack.
But not her.
Either she doesn’t expect me to, or she doesn’t care if I do.