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I work her through it. Don’t stop until she’s pushing at my forehead, oversensitive, panting like she just went five rounds.

I stand up.

My cock’s painful, leaking, twitching every time I see her sprawled there, legs open, tits out, mouth slack. I take myself in hand and start to stroke, eyes locked on her.

“Watch.”

She lifts her head. Watches.

“Such a pretty cunt. I’m gonna paint it, sweetheart. Mark it. Want to see my cum all over you when I’m done.”

“Cruz.“

“Yeah.” Stroke. Stroke. “Tell Coach about this? Tell him I had your cunt on my tongue while you came on my fingers?”

“Ohgod!”

“Maybe he’ll fuck you next. Maybe I’ll watch. Maybe I’ll be inside him while he’s inside you, just like I told him.”

That does it. I shoot hot ropes across her pussy, her stomach, one streak hitting the underside of her tit, and I keep going until I’ve got nothing left and she’s a mess of me from belly to thighs.

“Fuck.Fuck, look at you.”

She’s flushed pink everywhere, dazed, half-laughing because I think she might be losing her mind a little. I crouch back down between her thighs.

“What are you?—”

I lick her clean.

Slow, deliberate strokes of my tongue gathering every drop off her skin. Her thighs shudder. When I get to her cunt I lick there too, savoring the taste of us mixed, and she makes a strangled noise that might be a word.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” she exlaims.

“Mm.” I press one last kiss right at the top of her slit and stand. “You taste good. We taste good together.”

I pull her to her feet. She wobbles. I catch her elbow, steady her, and her eyes blink up at me, glazed and stunned.

I kiss her.

She kisses me back instantly, soft and hungry, and I can feel her chasing the taste of herself on my tongue. My hand cradles the back of her skull. Hers fists in the towel that’s somehow ended up in my other hand.

“You did so good, sweetheart.” I murmur with my lips inches from hers. “Such a good girl for me.”

She makes a tiny sound. Like the words landed somewhere deep she wasn’t expecting.

Then her eyes go wide, like reality has just come banging on the stall door, and she’s pulling back and scrambling for her leggings.

“Oh god.”

“Hey, look at me.”

She doesn’t look at me. “Ohgod. Oh my god.”

“Dakota!”

She’s got the shorts on, the bra yanked down, the tank tugged into place, and she’s fumbling with the latch on the door with hands that won’t cooperate.

“I have to go. I can’t?—”