Every brush of his tongue, of his teeth, draws her closer around him, hands and other places, warm and wet and tight. He can feel her muscles fluttering around him as the heat builds.

He shifts just so and she exhales in a sharp, sweet breath, her head tipping back hard. So quickly, he has brought her right to the razor's edge and she doesn't want to fall yet, not yet, not yet. She holds her breath, denying the inevitable for as long as she can.