What can she say? She's a hard-working woman... When she gets the chance.

"Tastes good, doesn't he, sweets?" She braces herself against Izzy's sturdy back again to push herself upright and pour lotion into one hand, clicking the bottle shut and tossing it aside to lean back in. Wrapped around him again, she kisses and nips and caresses across Izzy's shoulders, her hand now snaking over his hips to wrap slick and firm around his cock.

(She does so love to sweet-talk Izzy. With anyone else it would be dirty talk, but the effects of compliments and endearments are, with him, much the same.

Maybe one day she'll tie him up and just talk to him until he comes for her. Ooh. Now there's an interesting thought...)

"Clever boy, Israel," she murmurs darkly, pressing her lips to the prettily-drawn swallow on his neck and nuzzling; when she says his full name, smoky warm breath so close to his ear, it's with three syllables and a voice like something molten. Like a song. "Good boy. Going to live up to your tattoo for him, hmm?"

Her hand is moving steadily; her other arm curls round his broad chest, finds a nipple, and pinches.