The Coochie Diaries
He slumped in the seat, spent, panting, covered in his own mess, the smell of sex and gasoline and hot dust filling the cabin.
Violet watched him, a slow, conqueror’s smile spreading across her face. She reached out and wiped a streak of his release from his stomach with her thumb, then brought it to her mouth, tasting it without breaking eye contact.
“Perfect,” she breathed. “No misfires. No valve float. Peak performance achieved.” She leaned over and kissed him, hard and deep, her tongue claiming his mouth as thoroughly as she had claimed every other part of him. It was a kiss of ownership and profound satisfaction.
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