I rubbed the swollen bud with the flat of my finger, teasing her and drawing out her pleasure.
She moaned—long, needy, her thighs quivering around my shoulders.
“Do you know what this is sometimes called in Italian?” I murmured, my lips brushing against her aching heat.
She gasped, her thighs tightening around me. “Tell me,” she breathed.
I chuckled, letting my breath warm her core, sending a shiver through her body.
“Amor Veneris, vel dulcedo.”
Her hips arched, her body pleading for my mouth.
I ran my tongue in one devastating stroke along her dripping folds.
“The love… or sweetness… of Venus.”
And then I devoured her.
Her entire body bowed, a choked cry escaping her lips.
“Roman!”
God, her taste—her fucking taste.
I groaned, tongue lapping, teasing, flicking, my fingers thrusting deep, curving just right.
I tightened my grip on her hips, holding her still as I feasted on her, driving her higher, harder.
“Who owns this amor Veneris?” I murmured against her wet, quivering flesh, the words sending vibrations through her body.
She gasped, her hands fisting into my hair. “You do!”
Damn right, I did.
The drums from downstairs pounded, their rhythm matching the pounding of my blood, the throbbing of my cock as it pulsed between my thighs, aching for her.
Her body tightened around my fingers, her pleasure cresting—but I wouldn’t let her come yet.
No.
She had to climax around my cock.
I pulled away from her just before she tipped over the edge, leaving her panting, desperate with need.
She let out a frustrated moan, her hands grabbing at me, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me down, down, down until my weight pressed her into the floor.
“Roman—please?—”
Fuck.
I couldn’t wait another second.
I tore at my breeches, shoving them down my legs, my cock thick, heavy, dripping with need.
I gripped myself at the base, the head sliding through her slick folds, coating me in her heat, her arousal.
I wanted to savor this, to tease her?—
