His hands on my thighs grow firmer, rougher, squeezing and guiding me. I don’t resist. My own hands weave into his hair, fisting the strands as I grind against him, feeling the heat coiling tighter.
Pressure, friction—it’s everything I crave, and I press him into me, squeezing his head between my thighs exactly like he wants, every shiver and moan a silent promise of how much I need him.
His eyes roll back as he quickens the pace, moving his tongue wildly. He licks me with abandon, teasing, pushing, stretching my lips, pressing into them before burying his face into my pussy. Every flick, every drag, sets my nerve endings alight, sparks scattering through me like fire across dry grass.
I tighten my grip on his hair, forcing him impossibly closer, molding him to my body. His mouth devours me—slow, then rough—playing with the pressure and the pace, exploring every inch, tasting me as if he’s trying to memorize the flavor of my desire. I feel the hard pressure of his face against me, each push curling deeper into my core.
When he shifts, trying to change the angle, I ease the pressure with my thighs, guiding him exactly where I want him.His bristled beard brushes against my wet flesh, and then his lips clamp around my clit. Suction pulls and drags, while his tongue slaps lightly against the sensitive bud, coaxing out muffled moans and desperate, stifled sounds that escape me against my will.
My body convulses, twitching uncontrollably under him. My eyes roll upward, back arching as it softly thuds against the mirror, my body chasing the rising tide of sensation.
He senses my approach, and the suction grows, harder, more insistent. My mind unravels, untethered from my body, swallowed entirely by the storm of lust consuming me.
Shivers climb my spine, unstoppable, radiating from every inch of contact where his lips and tongue lap against me. Shame and abandon intertwine as I pick up the pace, grinding harder, pressing him into me with need.
I lose myself completely—my name, my consciousness, the remnants of my goddamn sanity—everything surrendered to the coil of heat in my stomach, tightening painfully and so fucking exquisitely.
Euphoria crashes over me, devouring every sense. The world shrinks to his lips, his tongue, and my own writhing body. It feels like a descent into hell, every nerve, every breath, every inch of me consumed by the fire of him.
I climb so high that dizziness blooms in my skull, a dull ache consuming me as I ride the relentless waves, grinding roughly against his face. His hold on my thighs tightens, anchoring me, forcing me closer as if no amount could ever satisfy the hunger he inspires.
Weak, ragged gasps tumble from my chest as my world tilts, turning upside down, every certainty I once clung to dissolving into question marks.
He continues to roughly lap at my throbbing pussy until I’m forced to beg him to stop. Convulsions wrack me, each onetearing through me like a fish flung from the sea onto a dry, burning shore, leaving me trembling and raw.
Then, he rips his mouth away, and the absence of heat sends an icy shiver up my spine. I shift instinctively, chasing the burning tingles before he rises and slams his lips to mine. I’m delirious, lost in the dizzying collision of pleasure when his tongue dives into my mouth—demanding, claiming, devouring.
A unique, electric taste blooms on my tongue, fire and electricity sparking between us as our lips lock. It’s like volcanic eruptions tearing through the earth, with energy pulsing in colossal waves.
Time fractures. The world contracts to the heat of our connection, the press of our bodies, the bruising kiss that leaves us gasping and trembling. I know I’ll leave this fitting room disheveled, cheeks burning, breath stuttering, the remnants of our passion still vibrating through my skin.
Dante pulls back, and I catch him reaching into his pocket. My eyes trace the movement as he withdraws a delicate pink spider lily. Surprise flutters weakly across my face, and I’m too spent, too undone to even try to understand anything.
“Where…” I start, my words faltering, failing to form a coherent question.
Before I can finish, he spins the flower between his fingers and tucks it carefully behind my ear. The spidery petals brush lightly against my skin, teasing the sensitive shell of my ear, and a small smile fights to surface.
“While you were busy shuffling through clothes,” he explains, his voice low and airy, carrying that familiar heat.
“I told you… The best is what you deserve. And I’ll move heaven and earth to give it to you.”
Austria, Vienna
My nerves are sparking like live wires. Anxiety leaks out of me in hot, frantic pulses, and the damn hood suffocates me, clinging to my head like a noose. I drag a hand across my face, pushing the loose strands of hair back into the fabric, trying to look less like I’m about to combust.
“Mein Herr, möchten Sie sonst noch etwas?Sir, would you like anything else?”
My head snaps to the side. A waitress stands beside me, worry tightening her features. Her gaze flicks to my untouched coffee—the full, cooling cup I haven’t so much as breathed on—and she probably thinks I’m displeased, ready to complain.
“Nein, mir geht es gut. No, I’m fine,” I say quietly, forcing a smile I barely feel. “Danke trotzdem. Thanks though.”
“Nun, falls Sie sonst noch etwas benötigen…Well, if you need anything else…” Her voice trails off as she scribbles something on her notepad with a pen. Then she tears the paper free and places it on my table. My eyes drop to it—numbers, hastily written, underlined once.“Fragen Sie ruhig. Feel free to ask.”
She turns, tossing a final glance over her shoulder before walking away. It takes my anxiety-fogged brain a full second to understand.
She just gave me her number.
I pick up the scrap of paper between two fingers and crush it into a tight ball. The small act snaps me back to myself for a heartbeat.
