Lace garterbelt

Jade was always a sucker for satin, and lucky for both of us so was Nate. Night came, lights dropped, and there she stood wearing nothing that mattered except the frothy green lace garter belt, stockings tight against her thighs, tiny flowers all through the weave. The belt hooked up the back, cheeky ruffles above each thigh. I lifted my shirt, heart thumping faster the lower the zipper went. Jade liked to watch me undress while she stayed neatly wrapped like a gift. Stocking tops dug little crescents into bare skin above the straps, and every time she shifted her weight the lace slid an inch and let me see how wet it was already. She gave me that sly little wiggle, the one that says get the hell over here. I knelt, tugged the first clip loose with my teeth, heard the metallic snap, and the stocking fell away. Her leg was warm and tense under my fingers. I moved slower on the second one, pushed my tongue against the lace itself, tasted salt through cotton breath, and she groaned. When nothing remained but the garter and her breathing, she spun so the lamplight made the green lace gold. I kissed the thin band that rested just above the swell of her ass, licked once, caught a giggle and a hip twitch that told me the rest of the night was decided. Jade likes fast and just a little rough once we’re past the polite part, and I’m happy to oblige.