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Sharp teeth sunk into her bottom lip, the soft undersides of her knees dripping with sweat, the bed sheets slick to her naked back, Nile wants to come.
Andy's mouth is hot and wet, and Nile's ankle is twisting at an odd angle, cramping from the on and off pressure. It's too little, far too little, yet almost too much when Andy presses closer to open Nile up on her tongue, palm holding her hips down against the first spasm of renewed pleasure. Casually drumming the fingers on her free hand on one kneecap, as if to indicate she could lie here, settled on her stomach between Nile's open legs, for hours more, maybe even days.
"Come on," she groans. Her chest is burning up and her mouth is sore and raw. Her skin is covered in a fine sheen of sweat practically everywhere.
As relentless as Andy always is, she isn't without mercy. Nile knows the delay is meant to be a bittersweet ache and she knows Andy always follows through.
When she inevitably pulls back, however, Nile lets out a pathetic little disappointed whine. How could she not?
She doesn't mean for her hips to keep moving, following Andy's retreat, but, before she can slump back into the sheets, Andy frames the swell of her with her fingers to dive right back in, the respite this time around short-lived.
She gets her as close as she's been all afternoon, but it's not enough.
"Can you— just— Andy," she grunts, sighing a moment later at the latest withdrawal.
Andy's head rises, giving Nile a clear view down her torso.
"No," she says, a wide smile stretching her face, which, when she presses it back against Nile's clit, it's all Nile can do not to scream.
It's a good afternoon.