Mental flash, buying milk

Your tongue, warm, slightly rough, latching onto my skin just above my buttocks, tracing a firm, decisive path up my spine. Your nose brushes my skin slightly ahead of your mouth once or twice, fleeting moments that make me shiver. One hand clamped on my waist as you move up my back slowly, one reaching for my hair and sweeping it clear, so you have an unobstructed path to the nape of my neck. You linger there briefly, breathing in my hair, before flipping me around and sinking down; starting at my bikini line, pausing around my navel, your eyes on my face the whole time your tongue is on my skin.
I almost turn skimmed milk to butter.

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