John, the gorgeous man that he is, didn’t stop whispering to her, praising her, telling her how good she was, how fucking perfect she felt beneath him.

And when she finally opened her eyes, she reached for him.

And flipped their positions.

Now she was on top.

And he was at her mercy.

She smirked, slow, knowing, and dangerous, as she dragged her hands down his stomach, her fingers brushing the trail of hair that led lower.

John exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening, his abs flexing as she teased her way down.

“Just lay back, babe ” she murmured, lips grazing his skin, sending shocks of heat straight through him.

He let out a low curse, his fingers gripping the sheets, because fuck, she knew exactly what she was doing.

She wanted to wreck him right back.

She took her time, watching his face, reading every reaction, teasing the little constellation of very sensitive points on the underside of his cock with slow flicks of her tongue, with soft bites, deep, slow pressure, until his entire body was tight and aching.

John’s hands moved into her hair, gripping, needing, but she stayed in control, keeping him right at the edge, right at her mercy, making him beg without words.

It was slow and unbearable and perfect.

By the time she finally pulled herself back up to kiss him, his breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling in heavy, needy exhales.

He flipped her back onto the bed, settling between her legs.

And then—he kissed her, deep and slow and wrecked, because she had just ruined him completely.

He ran his hands down her sides, smoothing his palms over her soft skin, over the curve of her stomach, feeling every inch of that beautiful thin skin of her pussy.

Candy let out a breathless laugh, still panting, moaning, and floating.

John trailed his mouth down her neck between kisses, his lips against her skin, against her pulse.

She shivered.