I was still drowning in the afterglow, my muscles twitching with every shallow breath, yet the sight of her hovering over me ignited a secondary fire I thought I'd just extinguished.
"Alina," I managed to rasp, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears.
She didn't wait for my permission. With a slow, deliberate movement, she reached down. Her fingers didn't go for my lace bra this time. Instead, she grasped her own length, which was still weeping with the fluid of my lone climax, and guided it forward.
I watched, mesmerized, as she slid her length into the deep valley of my breasts. The friction was a searing, sliding heat against the sensitive skin of my breasts.
My breasts, still trapped inside the fabric, pushing them together to create a tight, cushioned path for her.
Alina let out a low, guttural sound of approval before she leaned forward, bracing her weight on the headboard, and began to move.
She thrust her hips, sliding herself between my breasts.
