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Jay was straddling Tara's waist, wearing nothing but beat up black jeans and a red lace bra, her black hair streaming in long, wild curls all the way down to her cleavage.
Tara couldn't remember ever seeing anything better than that.
Jay leaned forward, pulled Tara's T-shirt up over her head and threw it on the floor, then grinned down at her. She ran a hand up Tara's stomach, then squeezed Tara's nipple between her fingers, making her arch.
"I fucking love your tiny little tits," Jay said.
Tara clenched her jaw. "They're not tiny. They're... moderate."
Jay laughed. "Whatever, bitch. Don't worry, I like 'em flat." She squeezed at Tara's right breast. "It's like half an English muffin."
Tara tried to push Jay off, muttering for her to go fuck herself, but Jay pushed her back down, grabbed her arms and pinned her back on the bed. "I'd rather fuck you."
"Then stop talking about my boobs."
Jay smirked. "I'm not allowed to appreciate them? Because when I found all that creepy stalker footage you took of me, I noticed a whole lot of cleavage shots."
Tara swallowed, dry, and started to blush. Jay responded by leaning down and taking Tara's nipple between her teeth, softly pulling up.
It hurt just a little, just the right amount, wet sharpness on her tit, and Tara was torn between feeling surprised that Jay was even capable of being gentle, being entirely pissed that Jay was saying such dickhead things about her boobs, and being so turned on she could barely concentrate on the other two things.
"I fucking hate you," Tara managed to mumble, even as she reached up to cup Jay's breasts.
"I fucking care," Jay said, then pressed her tongue down on Tara's nipple, hard.
Tara had a really excellent comeback. It was completely Jay's fault that it sort of just came out as a moan.