She waited until the twitching died down, then started again, slower, almost lazy. I reached for her thighs, sliding my palms up smooth skin, thumbs brushing the crease where leg met hip. She let me. I cupped her tits through the tank, rolled her nipples between my fingers until they were rock-hard and she let out a soft, breathy moan.
"Greedy boy," she whispered, but didn't stop me. "You can touch all you want. Just don't fuck my hand."
She leaned forward, letting her tits drag across my chest, nipples scraping my skin. I pinched harder; she hissed and sped up her strokes in retaliation.
Six minutes in she switched to feather-light strokes, just her fingertips tracing every vein, circling the head until I was leaking constantly. My hips jerked; she slapped my thigh, sharp.
"Behave, or I'll tie you down."
Then she went hard and fast, slick, perfect pressure, twisting both hands in opposite directions. I was right there in seconds.
She let go.
