"Oh, yes, my Mistress," Clint murmured, and lowered his head, mouthing the tops of her breasts and burrowing his face between them. He inhaled deeply, the sweet, salty musk of her, the hint of her arousal.
He indulged in her skin, smooth against his cheeks, still smooth from when he'd shaved that morning, dropped reverential kisses against the swell of her breast, thumbs still teasing, circling the flesh as it hardened. "Is my Mistress pleased?" he inquired.