He then slid his hands down my stomach and traced along the skin above my waistband.
I started to reach for my tights, but he clicked his tongue. My eyes met his, and he shook his head, as though to tell me he was still the one in charge of this class.
I froze. Put my hands back down by my side and felt my heart thunder like the galloping of a million horses as I lurched my hips up in the air.
He began to slide my leggings and panties down my hips. Slowly, so slowly, revealing inch after inch of skin.
The AC blasted right onto me, and I trembled to hold my legs open for him. Once he had my clothes off, he didn’t move.
I just lay there, below him, tracing the map his eyes built as he took his fill of me.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his eyes traveling up from my feet, over my legs, to the apex of my thighs. “You’re even more beautiful than I remembered.”
I watched as he settled between my legs and used his hands to push my thighs further apart.
His fingers traced up my inner thigh with featherlight touches that made me tremble. When he finally reached thecenter of me, his finger slid across my slit with agonizing slowness.
“So wet already,” he murmured, his eyes flicking up to meet mine. “Is this all for me, baby?”
“Yes,” I admitted in a desperate, breathy voice.
The truth of those words hit me hard. It had always been only him, even when I tried to forget.
His eyes never left mine as he slowly slid one finger inside me. God, he felt like the needle in the haystack I’d always been searching for, and I gasped and clenched around his finger, chasing the feeling. It had been so long since anyone had touched me there—since I’d wanted anyone to.
“God, you’re still so tight,” he groaned, working his finger deeper.
He began to move, curling his finger inside me in a motion that made my toes curl. His thumb found my clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make my hips buck off the mat.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, watching my face as he added a second finger. “Show me what feels good.”
The stretch of two fingers made me moan, my head thrashing from side to side as he set up a rhythm that had me riding his hand shamelessly. Each thrust of his fingers hit a spot inside me that sent sparks shooting up my spine.
“Dante,” I gasped, my hands fisting in the mat beneath me. “Oh god, don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” he groaned. “Not until you come for me.”
He lowered his head then, still watching me as his mouth hovered just above where his fingers worked me. The first touchof his tongue against my clit made me cry out, my back arching off the mat.
“Oh fuck!”
He then set to work like his life depended on it. He circled his tongue, round and round, on my clit while his fingers traced the same route against my walls inside. And just like that, the pressure kept building, and he tightened the circles made by his fingers until every effort was on that one spot that was pushing me rapidly toward the edge.
My entire world had narrowed to his mouth, his fingers, and the building pressure at my core. My thighs began to tremble as he increased his pace, his fingers curling to hit that damning spot with every jab.
“I’m close,” I warned, my voice high and desperate. “Dante, I’m so close.”
“Let go for me, baby,” he urged, looking up at me from between my legs. “I want to watch you fall apart.”
His tongue flattened against my clit, applying pressure once more, just as his fingers curled inside me again, and he began to move just the tip, slapping it against the spot over and over and over again, so damn fast that I shattered. The pleasure swam outward, crashing through every nerve ending. My body clenched around his fingers, my back arching, a long, moaning cry escaping my lips.
Stars burst behind my closed eyelids as wave after wave of the orgasm washed over me. My entire body pulsed with it, from my fingertips to my toes, every muscle tensing and releasing with the contractions deep inside me.
But Dante didn’t stop. He eased the pressure of his tongue but kept it moving, drawing out my pleasure until I wasgasping for breath, my hands now in his hair, not sure if I was pushing him away or pulling him closer.
“Too much,” I panted, oversensitive. “I can’t—”
He slowed his movements, his fingers still inside me but no longer thrusting. Instead, he began a gentle massage against my front wall, finding that spongy spot that made my eyes roll back in my head.
