Playboy Girlfriends - Episode 2

Her phone sits face down on the nightstand, screen dimming to black. She turns toward me, thighs sliding across silk sheets, a lazy smile curving her lips like she already knows what comes next. The room holds its breath. I reach for her, palm meeting warm skin, and the kiss starts slow, tasting of wine and the late hour. Her tongue finds mine, lingers, then pulls away with a soft bite to my lower lip. She laughs under her breath, the sound low, private. Hands find the hem of her shirt, push it up until it tangles near her collarbones. Her breasts spill free, nipples already tight. I lower my mouth, suck one between my lips, roll it gently with my tongue. A quiet sigh escapes her. Fingers thread through my hair, hold me there, then tug when I graze teeth. She parts her legs without being asked. My hand slips down, cups the heat between them, fingers pressing against damp cotton. I rub slow circles until she rocks up to meet me. The fabric grows slick. I peel her panties off, slide them down one ankle, leave the other leg still half-draped in lace. She spreads wider. Two fingers part her folds, glide through wetness, circle her clit once, twice, then sink inside. She gasps, hips tilting, and the sound lands hot in my stomach. I pump in and out, curl against the front wall, watch her mouth fall open. Her inner muscles squeeze, greedy. She reaches down, wraps her hand around my wrist, guides me deeper, faster. The rhythm tightens. Her free hand finds her own breast, pinches the nipple, rolls it between fingers. Sweat beads at her hairline. A flush spreads across her chest. She whispers my name like a dare. I add a third finger, stretch her open, thumb still working her clit. She trembles, thighs shaking, then goes still, caught on the edge. One hard flick and she comes, clenching around my fingers, breath stuttering out in short, sharp bursts. I keep moving through it, draw it out until she whimpers and pushes my hand away, oversensitive. She drags me up, kisses me deep, tasting herself on my tongue. Her fingers find the front of my jeans, pop the button, tug the zipper down. She frees me, strokes once, twice, then pulls me between her legs. The first push is slow, deliberate. Heat wraps around me. She locks her ankles at the small of my back, heels urging me deeper. We find a pace that makes the headboard tap the wall, steady, insistent. Sweat slicks where our stomachs meet. She bites my shoulder, leaves a mark. I shift angle, grind against her clit with every thrust. Her nails dig into my back, carve half-moons. The tension builds again, tighter this time. She comes with a broken moan, body going rigid, then soft. The clench drags me over with her. I bury myself deep, pulse inside her, forehead pressed to hers. We stay like that until breathing evens. She kisses the corner of my mouth, slow, almost chaste. Then she laughs again, low, satisfied, and reaches for the phone to check the time.