Bedtime Footjob

Nap is fifteen minutes away, but Jessa's boyfriend still finds a way to slip one soft foot across his lap. She's stretched out in yesterday's t-shirt, one leg already pointed toward the ceiling like a dancer testing a stretch. Her long toes flex, the soles rippled silk the second they touch his skin, and his breath hitches on contact. She smirks, almost shy about how proud she is of this party trick. Then she slides her other foot up, hooks an ankle behind his knee, and draws a neat line right under the waistband. Toes wiggle, squeeze, lift; he sinks back into the cushions like someone just tugged the floor out from under him. Jessa likes the power. She traces every inch, arches, points, wraps him toe-over-toe and finishes each stroke with a silky flick across the tip. He laughs once, a choked sound halfway between delight and protest, and she answers with a second, slower rub, letting the ball of her foot roll like she's ironing out a kink only she knows how to reach. By the time the sun slips, he's glassy-eyed and gasping, and Jessa's already lining up another playful curl. Her smirk says she'll stick around as long as he keeps making that stupid, adorable sound.