Page 116 of Lorenzo

He drizzles more tequila all over my sex. But his tongue now focuses on the sweaty corners where my thigh meets my outer lips.

“Tasty,” he says between nibbles. “Delicious!” He blows his warm breath on me, and I nearly explode with pent-up desire.

“This is the best drink I have ever had,” he says, continuing to lick me clean.

I moan. “Silence,” he commands.

But there is humor and heat in his voice.

His tongue continues its exquisite work, venturing closer to my clit. torture. Lorenzo has a way of teasing me mercilessly …tiny flicks that never quite give me the direct contact I desperately need.

I want his tongue to possess me completely.

“I want you to taste yourself,” he says, his lips wet and glistening as he approaches my mouth. “Pussy juice and tequila.”

I laugh breathlessly.

“Still not the right name for a fifty-dollar cocktail,” I say.

“We will think of something more clever,” he promises.

His five o’clock shadow is scruffy and abrasive against my tender face. Yet it feels so good. Very good.

“Oh, Lorenzo!”

He kisses me in a thousand different ways—nipping at my lips, sucking them, using his tongue to penetrate my mouth.

My clit throbs, begging for relief. I feel his hard cock through the thin fabric of his summer shorts pressing against my leg.

He wants me as much as I want him.

“Come into me now,” I say, breathless with desire.

“Woman,” he replies with a dominant edge, “you have to wait.”

I do not know how he can wait himself.

When I yank his shorts down, hoping to accelerate things, I feel my thigh become wet with his pre-cum.

“Please, Lorenzo,” I beg.

But he does not listen yet. He continues kissing me, then moves down to my breasts, sucking my nipples before pouring more tequila there.

“Absolute ambrosia,” he declares. “I am going to have to talk to the bartender about this drink.”

I giggle again, lost in the playful heat between us.

Lorenzo takes my shoulders and looks deep into my eyes for a moment.

Then, instead of what I expect, he turns me over onto my stomach.

He pours more tequila into the crack between my ass cheeks.

“I am a good bartender,” he says. “I need to add the most exotic ingredient to my drink.”

He teases me, skirting around the edges of my tight hole and bringing me into a frenzy of need.

Then his tongue ventures in, working me gently at first but with growing intensity.