For now, she just wants your tongue inside her pants.

You break eye contact with Sam to look straight ahead at the crotch of her unzipped pants. You can already faintly detect the smell of her growing readiness wafting from the dark opening. She must have been more in the mood than she was letting on all this time.

You place your hands on the sides of her hips and slowly lean forward. You stick your tongue between the teeth of the open zipper, and are momentarily thrilled by the odd taste and sensation of the metal against tongue, of denim against cheeks. Then the tip of your tongue finds soft resistance as you press it against the soft cotten of her underpants, just over where her mons is. You are reward by her sudden sharp intake of breath.

As you continue to probe inside her pants with your tongue, she moans softly and places one hand on top of your head. Slowly ruffing up your hair, she practically purrs, "Oh, yes, Paul, that's it..."