Page 145 of Range

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Back.

Forth.

Back.

Forth.

Her body quivered. Those long legs of hers threatened to give out.

Back.

Forth.

Back.

Forth.

I inserted my index finger and my middle finger into her slipperiness. I replaced my tongue with my thumb.

Spuh.

I spat on her asshole.

“Uhhhhh.”

Her body jolted. I pulled her closer. Running wouldn’t save her.

“Mmmmm.”

My tongue acquainted itself with her backside. I touched every groove. One by one, familiarizing myself with every ridge around her asshole.

There wasn’t a part of Range’s body I didn’t want to know by heart. I was actively creating a blueprint, a roadmap, of her in my head. No stone would be left unturned.

It was mandatory that I located every switch on her body.

The ones that made her ooze.

The ones that made her cream.

The ones that made her moan.

The ones that made her mad.

The ones that made her sad.

The ones that made her explode.

The ones that made her sensitive.

The ones that made her soften.

The ones that made her happier.

The ones that made her mellow.

The ones that made her day.

She reached back, grabbing at thin air.

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