The milk hit my tongue with that vanilla sweetness I'd memorized by our third session. Warm and rich, carrying something beneath the flavor that felt more like an emotion than a taste—the emotional signature of a girl who sent two thousand dollars home every month and chose me when I was nobody.
The System registered twenty-five points. The number floated in my periphery. I dismissed it. Naomi's hand tightened in my hair, her hip pressing my thigh, and the sounds she made had shifted from sighs to something with sharper edges.
I slid my free hand down her stomach. Lean muscle from Wave Motion conditioning contracted beneath my palm as I traveled south.
My fingers found the waistband of her skirt. I pulled it down without breaking contact with her breast. Naomi lifted her hips to help. The skirt slid past her thighs and joined the growing pile of clothes on the sand.
