"It depends… will you be gentle?" Yuehan twirled the flower between her fingers, not looking at him.
"Do you want me to be gentle?" Qingyi asked, his eyes fixed on her face.
"No."
The reply caught Qingyi off guard.
Before he could say anything, she suddenly stood up.
The flower fell, forgotten, onto the sheet.
Yuehan swung one leg over him and mounted him without ceremony, her knees splayed on either side of his body. Her hands slid up Qingyi's chest until they came to rest on his shoulders.
Her weight came down on his lap all at once.
Her thick thighs squeezed Qingyi's hips from the outside—warm and damp through her pantyhose—and her full ass settled onto his legs, plump and heavy, spreading over his thighs as it took her weight.
Yuehan's floral scent grew stronger with their closeness.
