People don't come here to be known. I won't ask, and you don't have to tell me.

[Though of course, he'll retrieve her card after this, and that will lend a clue to her identity, depending — but that's a problem for later, when right now he's got far more pressing, more engaging business on his mind.

His fingers curl into the flesh of her thigh, a more possessive drag than the touch that came before; it's a warning of sorts, and the only one he offers before that same hand shifts over to the narrow strip of fabric that forms the only barrier against the wet heat between her legs.]

Let's pretend I'm your first. I'd like that.

[He tugs her a little more firmly back against him, tipping her off-balance so more of her weight is braced against his body, so that her hips naturally hitch up a little higher to better accommodate him as his fingers dip in to stroke her cunt through the fabric of her leotard, first just parting her folds before sliding higher in search of her clit.]

It's a shame about these masks. I'd like to make you come from my tongue — but there's plenty we can do, don't you worry.