He sat up first.
No announcement. No warning. Just the flat, decisive movement of a man who had already decided what came next and was simply executing it, his hand dropping to Jenny's ankle and yanking her down the mattress to the edge in one pull that left friction burns on the sheets.
Jenny's back hit the mattress hard from the drag, legs hanging off the edge, the cold air hitting her bare, abused cunt immediately, and she stared at the ceiling for exactly half a second.
Then his face dropped between her thighs and she stopped caring about the ceiling.
His tongue pressed flat against her cunt in one long, obscenely slow drag from her leaking entrance all the way up to her clit, tasting the full length of everything the night had deposited there — his cum, her squirt, the residue of every orgasm she'd had since this started — and he collected it all on his tongue with the patient thoroughness of a man reading fine print.
