Page 7 of A London Little's Pom Pom

She was drenched, and when Rosie pushed inside, thumb circling her clit, fingers stroking in a come hither motion, the tight hot warmth of Eloise’s pussy made her wet again. And this was a different kind of love making, one where they were close and intimate, Eloise not wanting her to move out of kissing distance. Holding Rosie in her arms and breathing out her pleasure until she came, filled with Rosie’s fingers, her clit slick beneath Rosie’s thumb, and it was Rosie’s name on Eloise’s lips that undid her.

Afterwards, post-hydration and snacks, they lay together and looked at the patterns scattered across Rosie’s skin. Clouds painted across her breasts, her bellybutton the setting sun, her belly a sky of colour, riotous in its joyfulness.

“You made me into art,” Rosie whispered.

“No, baby girl,” said Eloise, each phrase punctuated with kisses. “You always were art; I just framed it for you.”

“Stay with me?”

“Always,” said Rosie’s Daddy.

The End

Source: www.allfreenovel.com