“Fuck…” she gasps it out and I can’t help but smirk to myself.  I made Spencer cuss.  I am about to move to the other nipple when I remember that maybe this shouldn’t be happening, especially with both of us so drunk.  I stand up to look at her to make sure she is ok with this, but her hands are immediately on my belt, which is only a sash of fabric.  She can’t figure out the knot so she rips the belt instead.  I can feel the rush go straight to my core.  Shit, she is so hot like this.  Well, if she wants it that badly, who am I to say no?  Before I know it, I can feel her fingers probing at me.  I didn’t realize how wet she was making me until I felt how easily her fingers slid between my folds.  I hear a groan emanate from my throat but it doesn’t sound like me.

I can’t take it anymore, I have to feel her.  I have to touch her.  I have to see if this is making her as wet as it’s making me.  Had I been sober, or less blinded by the passion of the moment, I would’ve taken my time.  I would’ve been tantalizingly slow when I brushed my hand up the inside of her thigh, stopped briefly to press into her mound, and moved up to slide back down under the elastic waistband.  This wasn’t slow like that. It was fast and rough, and it left no doubts about where all of this was going.  I pushed through her folds.  She was agonizingly wet.  I would normally have commented.  I would have had some sort’ve dirty talk that would drive us both more insane with desire.  This wasn’t normal.  I was silent, but for my uneven ragged breath.  I took her earlobe into my mouth, and nipped down as I pushed two fingers into her.  I curled my fingers into the front of her pussy over and over again.  I was loving the way she grunted when I did this, and the way that I could feel her juices flood more with each and every curl.  I pulled back to look into her eyes, as I started to pull out and move a finger to her clit.  Fiery passion flowed between us.