Lydia finally pulled away, lips slick and chin dripping. She crawled forward, straddling Stiles’s hips. Her thighs bracketed Stiles’s waist, and she planted her hands firmly on Stiles’s chest. "Look at you," Lydia whispered, her eyes dark and predatory. Stiles stared up, breathing ragged. Lydia shifted higher—up Stiles’s torso—until her own slick folds hovered directly above Stiles’s swollen, dripping cunt. Lydia ground down slowly.

Stiles gasped as their wet pussies brushed—heat against heat, swollen flesh sliding against swollen flesh. Stiles whimpered. Lydia chuckled lowly. "Feel that?" Stiles nodded desperately. "YES!" Lydia pressed harder. Stiles arched instinctively, grinding upwards.