In the kitchen

Jack aimed for the kitchen but never made it. Soft skin, round tits, thighs warm against his cheeks—the grapes and apricots of her body turned out sweeter than anything he had ever bitten. He lost himself fast, mouth working greedily, tongue flicking every plump curve she offered. Juice ran down his chin, hers, and every burst tasted better than the last. Whoever trained these fruits should get an award. He kept licking and sucking until his stomach growled for more and his pants felt ridiculous for staying on.