Rihana's lips parted.
Not from consciousness. From something older than consciousness — a deep-wired response her body had developed in the past twelve hours to the presence of his cock at her lips, opening automatically the way a flower opens to light.
He looked down at her.
"Lick it."
The last of her energy gathered itself.
Her tongue came out.
Slow. Heavy. The exhausted, dragging stroke of a woman working on pure instinct with nothing left in reserve — the flat of her tongue pressing against the cockhead and drawing back in a single, long, deliberate stripe.
The taste hit her.
His seed. Her own milk. The combined residue of twelve hours of every woman in this room. All of it concentrated on the tip of his cock, all of it landing on her tongue at once.
Her body responded.
Not gradually. Not subtly.
