A Mouthful of Advice

Elias could barely string two words together when a girl batted her lashes at him. Every time he tried, something inside him tripped over nothing and spilled its guts on the tile floor. Lily, three steps closer in silk and perfume, had listened to every painful replay. “You’re overthinking the entrance,” she said. “Let them taste the exit.” She showed him what she meant, guiding his hand between her thighs while murmuring that soft heat draws better than any line. Finger by finger, she taught rhythm: the slow tease first, then the lazy circles that pulled a surprised little moan from her own throat. When she decided he’d earned it, she shoved him onto his back, straddled the nervous stiffness already pushing at his sweats, and eased down until every inch vanished inside her. Hips rolling, Lily proved lesson two—heat, drag, friction—moves even faster when you let the lady set the pace. She squeezed and slid, deliberately clenching so he felt each new slick squeeze like the answer to a question he hadn’t asked yet. Sweat beaded on Elias’s chest; he gripped her waist like the table edge during finals. Lily leaned forward, breath hot on his ear, and told him the three words he should whisper next time a college girl straddled his lap instead. By the time she shuddered around him and made him follow, all hesitation had dissolved into one very satisfied, very wet lesson plan.