Wet. Messy. Deep. My tongue teases, tracing the slick folds, pulling the warmth into my mouth, letting it glide over my lips before sucking it back in. My saliva drips, mixing with his arousal, coating every inch as I work him over—slow at first, savoring the stretch, the weight on my tongue, the way his body shudders beneath me. I pull back, letting him watch as I swirl my tongue around the sensitive tip, dragging the skin down, exposing the heat beneath before swallowing him whole again—deeper, wetter, needier. His fingers tangle in my hair, hips rolling, fucking my throat as I let it get filthier, messier, strings of spit connecting us. He’s close—I feel it, taste it, the way he throbs against my tongue, until he spills, hot and thick, flooding my mouth. I hold it there, rolling it over my tongue before swallowing every drop, licking my lips with a satisfied moan. Still hard? Let’s go again.