gooood morning lex :) thinking about oliver waking you up with a nice slow munch this morning :)
oh rain … i’m not letting you get away with this one scot free …
it’s so slow it’s almost sanity-robbing.
oliver’s languid tongue glides through your folds with practiced ease, opening you up like the pretty flower you are. goodness, does he love watch you bloom.
and you sound so sweet too, muffled whines against the pillow down as you’re awakened with pleasure in the dewy hours of morning, marigold light scattered through the blinds that turn your bedroom into an aurelian sanctuary.
oliver’s hands dance along with every sluggish squirm of your legs, trailing his warm palms over your thighs and caressing your hips as he reverently sucks on your clit. you think he hasn’t taken a proper breath in minutes.
you pant so hard into the pillow that he knows you’re steadily nearing the crest. you’re so sensitive in the morning that every deliberate kiss to your pussy raises your pitch and arches your back. you’re just the prettiest sight, it makes oliver groan and press his hips into the mattress. he’s so fucking hard.
you begin to rock your hips slowly, and he does good to follow every movement to a tee, like a steady rolling wave, your fingers weakly anchoring into his shaggy hair as he continues to leave long and loving open-mouthed kisses to your cunt.
all becomes a heady blur as you come undone, moaning like a honeyed melody, and the sweet taste has oliver humming with utter delight. he drinks you in — completely — savoring the warmth of your release on his tongue like a keepsake.
he finally breathes, a sigh against you mound, taking in the sight of you between the sheets. the prettiest fucking flower he’s ever seen.
“g’mornin’, baby.”