Finnegan
Abigail was like a painting. A masterpiece of pure sin and temptation, reeling me in with every sound that slipped from her lips, every shift of her body against the sheets.
She was sprawled across the bed of the yacht's master cabin, her lovely legs spread wide, her pretty pink pussy still glistening and clenching from the assault of my tongue.
Her chest heaved with every ragged breath, nipples hard and flushed from where she had sucked them herself — and just watching her do that had nearly destroyed me entirely.
Drool and precum coated her chin and neck, a filthy, beautiful mess, and those cornflower blue eyes looked up at me with raw, needy hunger that begged shamelessly for more.
I knelt over her, stroking my throbbing cock slowly, deliberately, drinking in every single inch of her like I had all the time in the world. My voice came out rough with hunger and something dangerously close to reverence.
"So fucking beautiful. So slutty for me. My perfect girl."
