His dirty mouth only increases the desire running rampant in my belly and wreaking havoc.
“Your fault,” I whisper.
He chuckles before he buries his face between my thighs and devours me. There’s no words to describe what he does between my legs, inflaming the passion so much that our balcony might catch fire.
He groans low in his throat, savoring me with gusto, I am pretty sure he would rather eat me than a six-course meal prepared by a Michelin chef.
I try to keep quiet while everything in me constricts—pulled taut to the point I might break apart.
He plays with my folds like the conductor plays the orchestra—shapes, guides, sets the tempo, having total control. His mouth is wicked, his fingers relentless, making me ride a wave that will most definitely crash over my head and drown me in euphoria.
“Mika…” I cry out his name as my hands shoot to his hair to hold onto him.
His teeth drag along my clit, sending pleasure that intoxicates me.
“Is my good girl asking for permission to come?” he asks hoarsely as he rubs his thumb along my slit.
Why does that sound so hot? I almost come on the spot. Nothing is more sensual, more erotic than the man you love possessing you, firmly trapped in his web of sin and carnality.
I grip the armrest, losing my damn mind by the second. It feels too good, and I choke out on stuttered breath.
“What melody are they playing?” he asks, his tongue flicking my clit as he pumps two thick fingers inside of me.
“I don’t know. I don’t care,” I whine, barely seeing or hearing.
Dots scatter my vision, and my ears ring with the sounds of my rapture.
He uses his tongue and fingers in a rhythm that drives me insane—just the right amount of pressure and speed.
“Focus, baby girl. Tell me what it is, and I’ll let you come.” He laps at my slit from bottom to top and pinches my clit, causing another tremor to rock me.
Panting heavily, I try to focus, listening to the melody. In the back of my mind, I know the title, but the answer eludes me. I’ve played Beethoven’s music, studied it, but as Mika continues hissweet assault on my senses, he keeps me trapped in the haze of lust—mindless.
His mouth and fingers drag me in one direction that is all pleasure while he demands I use my brain. He’s cruel indeed.
The B-flat major resounds in my head, giving it away.
“The Symphony No. 4,” I breathe, needing to come and squeeze his head between my thighs to ease a bit of the pressure.
“Good girl.”
I take it as permission to come because I erupt, gushing onto his chin and riding the pleasure wave, earning my relief.
“Just like that. Drench me in your juices, baby girl,” he groans, licking his chin.
The orgasm tears through my core, leaving me shaking to my bones. I fall back in the seat, limbless.
Catching my breath, I watch him peppering kisses from my pussy down my thighs before he stands up and takes the seat next to mine.
“I’ll never forget our first concert together,” I murmur.
He smirks. “That was the plan.”
I love you, I say with my eyes. In response, his face softens and darkens simultaneously, as if in response.
The rest of the concert passes in sheer bliss with me resting my cheek against his chest, and him caressing down my side.
Standing up, we clap for the musicians, who bow respectfully to us.
