Her dark skin catches the light as she leans forward, the weight of her full breasts demanding your complete attention. This is an invitation with terms — hours, not minutes.

You press your face against warm, soft flesh, feeling her breath change the moment your mouth closes around her. She threads fingers through your hair, not guiding, just holding on.

Time dissolves. Your jaw aches pleasantly, her chest rises and falls faster now, and neither of you has any interest in stopping. She asked for hours — you intend to deliver every minute.