Sex Snapshot 8: Sticky

It's after we've fucked and we smell like sex. Like each other. Salt and tang and musk and sweat. It's all over his face and between my thighs. It's on his chest and around his balls. It's on our hands and necks and shoulders and hips. We're covered in each other.

I roll from him and feel his thick, warm come slip from my lips and I race to catch it before I stain the sheets. He lies there, chest heaving, head lolling, a drop of come inching down his cock as his erection subsides. The air around us is heavy with our scent. Sexalicious. There's no other way to describe it. I seek his cock, still glistening, and lick away the evidence of our tryst.

We giggle and tickle each other's feet with our toes, mine ice cold, his warm as always. Slowly I run my fingers through my lips, feeling our wetness mingled, smoothing it over my flesh and I sigh with the contentedness that comes from a good orgasm.

Slowly we drift, finger and toes touching but not much else. And when we wake, we're still still sticky with the remnants of our afternoon.

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