Falling for Summer by Bridget Essex

tugging her pajama bottoms and panties off, discarding them just as quickly over the edge of the cot.  She's up on her elbows again, panting, as she stares down at me with glazed, dark eyes full of need. 
    I'm crouching between her knees now, and I look up at her through my eyelashes, smiling soft as I bend down, brushing my lips against her bellybutton.
    “C'mon,” Summer groans, reaching down, working her fingers into my hair.  “Please, Amanda,” she murmurs reverently, desperately, as she arches her head back, her neck a sweet curve.  She said my name like a prayer.  I shiver as I bend my head, pressing kisses down from her bellybutton to the arch of her rich hip, to the hollow of it, drawing kisses, more kisses, wet kisses, tracing my tongue down, down, until I plant a sweet, soft kiss against her pubic mound. 
    Summer is sighing out, her fingers wrapped around my strands of hair, pressing me down, down hard, and I respond, trailing my own fingers up and along the insides of her thighs, tracing spiraled patterns over her skin until my fingertips are resting against her center.  God, she's so wet, so deliciously wet, and as my fingers push through her folds, she hisses out again, bucking her hips, asking, wanting, with every inch of her body, for me to enter her. 
    So I do.  I press my fingers up through her slickness, and into her, and Summer groans, moving her hips in a rhythm that almost instantly matches my strokes.  I hover my mouth above her clit, blowing air against it gently, pursing my lips, and she groans again, reaching down, pressing her fingers against the top of my head.  “Please,” she growls, ending that one exquisite word with another groan, breathing out, her voice catching. 
    So I bend again, flicking my tongue gently, tantalizingly, across her clit.  Her hips buck so hard against me then, so desperate, that I finally give in.  I cover her clit with my mouth, a total kiss of longing as I tongue that nub gently at first, then firmly, harder and harder, as she rides my hand. 
    I know now that—like me—she's been wanting this for hours, too.  She's so wet, and it takes such a short amount of time for her to contract around my hand, for her to cry out, her fingers digging into my scalp, and for her to come against my hand and mouth.  She quivers beneath me as I draw out the orgasm as long as I can, until she's shuddering beneath me, and then I slowly pull my hand out of her, trailing my wet fingertips up her thighs to curl around her hip again, and planting a kiss against her right thigh. 
    She lies panting there for a long moment before she's up on her elbows again, her eyes dark with need and trained on me.  “God, you're beautiful,” Summer says then, rising, our limbs tangled, to pull me up beside her, under her as she straddles me, climbing easily on top of me and then kneeling between my legs.  She kisses my wet face, kisses my chin, my jaw, my neck, my earlobe as I squirm beneath her, twisting around so that I can wrap my arms around her shoulders, drawing her down to me so that I can kiss her fiercely. 
    She tastes me gently, carefully, breathing steadily as she's still coming down from that orgasm, but her moves become stronger, quicker, as she traces her fingers down my front, cupping my breasts with her hands, flicking my nipples and pinching them gently with her fingers.  She traces her fingers down, down, until they're wrapped around both of my thighs, and she's pressing my legs apart, wide, so that her bare hips can settle against my center.
    God, that feels so good...  I whimper beneath her as she pushes her wet sex against mine, and I throw my head back, wrapping my fingers in the sheets beneath me as I moan.  She's using her right hipbone against my clit, rubbing against me there, sliding against me, her rhythm building, and she's so good at this—or maybe it's because I've been wanting her for hours, too.  But as the thunderstorm rages outside, a