I lean down and kiss the inside of her thigh, while her hands go straight to my hair, holding me there. I take my time with her, letting my mouth map every secret, coaxing out gasps that turn into pleas. She’s so fucking responsive, so desperate for pleasure that doesn’t come with pain.
Her pussy glistens under the soft light coming in from the bathroom. It's the sweetest, most perfect pussy I've ever seen. I've dreamed of this moment for so long, I can hardly believe she’s here, opening herself to me like this, but if I’m dreaming, I’ll die happy in the fantasy.
My mouth finds her, and I’m careful—so careful. I barely touch her at first, just the faintest sweep of my tongue over where she’s already dripping for me. The first taste pulls a sharp inhale from her, the sound is almost a hiss, and it’s music I want to hear again and again.
Her whole body goes taut; her thighs tighten against my shoulders. I know exactly what she needs, but I don’t give it to her. Not yet. I savor her, taking my time, dragging it out until she’s trembling, not from fear, but from the frustration of wanting more. From needing me to give it to her. And because I can't get enough of that sweet taste of hers.
I hold her there, and she stiffens. Instantly, I let go; instead, I gently push against her hips to let her know I want her to keep still. Her body relaxes under my hand.
"Not yet, bella mia," I murmur against her, my breath brushes hot over sensitive skin. "I'm going to take my time with you."
Her fingers twist in the sheets, her knuckles turn white, and her chest rises and falls too fast. I give her another slow, deliberate lick, from slit to clit, and her back arches off the bed like I’ve jolted her with electricity.
God, she’s perfect. Sweet, intoxicating, every inch of her was made for me.
She lets out a broken little sound—half plea, half frustration—and I smile against her, knowing I’m driving her out of her mind. My tongue circles lazily around her clit,keeping my pace maddeningly steady, until her thighs shake and her breath comes in short, sharp gasps.
Only when I feel her nails dig into my forearms, her body nearly vibrating with the need to let go, do I give her what she’s been silently begging for, pressing my mouth to her and working her with slow, precise strokes that I know will ruin her for anyone else.
Her hips jerk, but I keep a soft pressure up to keep her where she is. My mouth is relentless now; each stroke of my tongue is perfectly in rhythm with her ragged breathing. When I slide one hand down between us, she gasps—surprised, she tenses for a heartbeat—until my fingers stroke over her, slow, coaxing, letting her feel every inch of my intent. I slip one inside, careful, easing her open for me.
"Good girl," I murmur against her. "That’s it. Let me in."
Her inner muscles clench around me, and I feel the aftershocks of every breath she takes. I curl my finger just right, brushing that spot that makes her whimper. I add another, stretching her a little more, working her in the same rhythm as my mouth.
She’s shaking now, her thighs are trembling so hard I can feel it in my shoulders; her hands fist the sheets like she’s holding on for dear life.
I pull back just enough to growl, "I want every sound, bella mia. Don’t you dare hold back from me."
Then I take her again, my mouth and fingers moving together, unrelenting, until she’s twisting beneath me, on the edge, caught between begging me to stop and begging me for more. Her breathing turns ragged, and every inhale catches in her throat. I can feel her fighting it, holding on to that last thread of control, and I’m not having it. My fingers press deeper, curling into that spot again and again, while my tongue works her in slow, devastating strokes. She arches, a cry tears from her lips, and I know she’s right there, balanced on the edge, afraid to fall.
I lift my head just enough to speak against her, keeping my voice rough and commanding. "Let go for me, bella mia. Right now. I’ve got you."
The words break whatever is holding her back. Her body bows, and a choked moan spills out of her as she shatters against my mouth and my hand. She convulses, tight and wet around my fingers, her thighs clamp around me like she’s trying to keep me there forever.
I don’t let up, not until the tremors start to ease, until her cries soften into gasping breaths and her body goes heavy against the mattress. When I finally ease my fingers from her, I press a slow kiss to the inside of her thigh, my hands stroking her hips to ground her. "That’s my girl," I murmur, the words more reverent than I intend. "Perfect."
She’s still trembling, her eyes are hazy when they meet mine, and I know I’ve just given her something she’snever had before, something no one will ever take from her again.
"Fuck, Raffael, that was…" Her voice trails off, either because she’s shocked at herself for saying it or because she can’t find the words.
I give her a small, crooked smile, though inside I’m burning. My cock is rock hard, so tight it’s almost painful, precum already leaking down my shaft. I want to be inside her so badly I can taste it, feel it in every pulse of my blood. But this isn’t about me. Not tonight. Tonight was about giving her something no one has ever given her before. And I think—hope—that I did.
She blinks at me, her lashes are heavy, and she murmurs something else, but her voice is already drifting with exhaustion. I press one last kiss to her temple and force myself to move. My steps are uneven, almost a limp, because every throb between my legs is a reminder of how close I am to losing my restraint. I head into the bathroom, soaking a towel in warm water, wringing it out before coming back to her.
She doesn’t stir much when I clean her, just sighs and shifts, letting me take care of her. When I’m done, I dress her again with the same careful hands, pulling the fabric over her skin like it’s fragile silk. She’s already halfway to sleep, and I tell myself I should let her rest, give her space.
But I can’t.
I slide in beside her, curl my body around hers, and drape my arm over her waist, my face buried in the soft scent of her hair. This… this right here is both the greatest pain and the greatest gift of my life, wanting her so much it hurts, but knowing she trusts me enough to fall asleep in my arms.
And I’ll take that over anything, even with the ache in my cock and the pulsing in my balls. Before I fall asleep, I think how fitting it is for Sophia to have had her first orgasm the night I made her a widow.
The next morning…
I wake slowly, like I’ve been floating somewhere soft and warm. My body feels… different. Loose. Heavy, but in the best way. I can’t remember the last time I woke up without my muscles coiled tight, without my jaw aching from clenching it in my sleep.
I keep my eyes closed. I don’t need to open them to know where I am.
