Our mouths collided in a kiss that was less about the script and more about a raw, mutual hunger. It was deep and possessive, our tongues tangling with a desperate heat that tasted of salt and adrenaline. I could feel the scorching warmth of her breath against my skin, her soft moans vibrating directly into my throat.
As we kissed, my hands moved with a mind of their own, finding the heavy, slick weight of her breasts. I kneaded them firmly, feeling the incredible contrast between her soft skin and the hard, pebble-like peaks of her nipples. Yolanda let out a muffled whimper into my mouth, her hands frantically roaming over my muscular chest and down my abs, tracing every line of definition until her fingers wrapped around my throbbing, still-erect cock.
The moment her hand closed around me, a jolt of electricity shot up my spine. She began to rub the length with a slow, rhythmic squeeze, her palm slick with the remnants of the first round.
