Nathan held his breath, his hands moving as if molding wet clay.
He squeezed, caressed, spreading the foam that made those caramel cheeks even more divine.
Livia's butt in front of him glistened—soapy water trickled slowly down the twin curves, highlighting just how mesmerizing the backside of a rabbit fighter could be.
His palm traced the surface—pressing, circling, slapping gently—then caressing again, as if Livia's body was an instrument, and he a perverted priest playing a cello with solemn lust.
With two fingers, he aimed to explore the caramel's most sensitive zone, parting the delicious folds that looked like molten chocolate—the gate where warm piss once exited.
The tip of his finger traced the thin valley, and as if whispered to by a fertility spirit, the moist surface pulsed softly in response.
Nathan stroked it slowly—circling, pressing, then dragging inward, as though searching for a secret point hidden beneath sweet skin and the scent of river water.
