“No?” He asked.
His hands hovered teasingly above the parts of her she wanted him to touch the most; making her want to scream at him.
“Tristan,” she warned through gritted teeth.
“What is the matter, my darling?” His deep voice thick with condescension, “starting to question those liberties you have taken?”
Ophelia’s eyes and head rolled back as his fingers delicately started to stroke rhythmic circles over her mons; making her feel torn between lust and rage. Her body had never been so close to such pleasure, so wracked with need. She did not know what to say, what to do, other than pray that he would not stop.
“I am waiting,” Tristan practically hummed as he sank to his knees.
“Waiting,” she said through panting breaths, “Waiting for what?”
“To hear you say it,” Tristan murmured, then kissed the inside of her thigh.
Ophelia shivered at the touch of his lips upon her delicate flesh.Why,whywas he insisting on a conversation now of all times?!
“What is it,” she breathed as his kisses drew higher up her inner thigh, “What is you want me to say?”
She was ready to say anything if it meant that he would stop dangling her on that edge pleasure and let her fall into it.
“That you enjoy it” he whispered, his lips brushing against her trembling, dewy mons. “That you enjoy giving me the control.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but as his tongue slid slowly over her most sacred lips, her words melted into a moan and her womb spasmed with need.
“Fine,” she breathed, losing her fighting spirit completely to the need he’d built inside of her.
“I enjoy giving you control! Just please, Tristan!” She cried out.
“Please what?” He asked in a slightly mocking tone.
He then blew softly over her mons, making her spasm and jerk her hips toward his mouth as she cried out yet again.
“Please…don’t…stop…” she panted, her legs beginning to tremble as her buildup of pleasure grew more intense.
Tristan let out a husky chuckle as his warm tongue swept over her mons again, and he hummed as he closed his mouth over her taut bundle nerves. Ophelia’s eyes rolled back and her mouthopened into a wideOas the lovely vibrations of such seeped into her very bloodstream and made her entire body tremble in response.
“Good girl,” he whispered, sliding his palms over her backside, then flicked his tongue again as he hitched her knees over his shoulders.
“Please….stop…talking…” Ophelia begged through ragged breaths.
Another wicked chuckle poured from Tristan’s throat, sending more of those delightful vibrations over her mons, but Tristan obeyed. Within moments, the only sounds echoing through the room were the laps of Tristan’s tongue and Ophelia’s breathy moaning growing in volume with each wicked flick.
It startled out subtle at first, the pleasure of Tristan’s tongue, but as he buried his head deeper between her legs and his tongue became more insistent, Ophelia’s body began to tighten with trembling tension. She was not sure what her body was being pulled toward or what would happen after. All she knew was that a precipice was growing closer, and all she wanted to do was fall over it.
When she did, all of that coiling, taut pressure within her snapped like tiny cords, and her lungs of their own volition poured out a scream of ecstasy. Somewhere through the waves of pleasure she was swimming through, she heard Tristan’s whispered words of praise as he placed soft kisses over her inner thighs, up her lower abdomen, and over her breasts. Whenshe finally could move her arms again, she wrapped them tight around his back, her fingers tunneling through his hair, and held him close. As she slowly came back into her body, she could not help but wonder what on earth she had just experienced. More worrisome than that though… were the potential consequences of letting Tristan be the man to give her such an experience.
For the first time in her life, Ophelia worried about the consequences of her view on freedom. Not for society’s sake. Not for her father’s. But for her own.
“I believe we found your next subject,” Tristan said, easing his body off of her.
Ophelia blinked, roused herself from her troubling thoughts.
“What?” She asked.
Tristan smirked as he pulled her skirts down over her legs, and for the first time since he’d ruined her dress, she felt bashful of her state of unkempt state. She sat up slowly, and pulled the ruined lace up over her shoulders.
“A woman being devoured,” Tristan explained, drawing her cloak around her ruined dress. “That is what I want you to paint next. Are you up to the task?”
