I wasn’t lying. As much as I loved the tight, expensive outfit she wore the other night, there’s something about her looking so dark and mysterious that does something for me.
She’s been all I can think about, and I’ve been stupid for telling her to take things slow, for not just going for it. Not when it’s not what I really want.
I don’t want to be an insecure cupid who gets in her own way anymore. This shamrock, this built in good luck charm is changing me for the better. I feel bolder, I feel sexy, and wanted. The way Mors looks at me has me feeling emboldened.
So I take a risk.
I stand, and flair my wings, before moving before her.
Mors looks at me like I’m the most spectacular thing she’s ever seen. She thinks my wings are beautiful, not that I should be learning to tuck them away. She doesn’t care that I’m new to the veil or inexperienced.
She doesn’t seem to want anything from me, except myself, and it makes me want to be good for her. Her unabashed interest in me makes me want to show her that I feel the same way,that I don’t care that we’re different in so many ways. ’Cause truthfully, the more I get to know her, the more similarities I find than differences.
Her hands come to my hips, her knuckles touching the feathers of my wings, making me sigh.
“What do you want, sweet cupid?”
This feeling of lust is overwhelming, and I’ve never felt anything like it before. Part of me wants to get on my knees for Mors, show her what a fucking good cupid I am, while the other wants to crawl on her lap and let her take what she wants.
She must see the contemplation running through my mind and takes matters into her own hands—literally.
Her hands wrap around the back of my thighs, sending a shiver down my spine and wings as she urges me to sit on her lap. I hold most of my weight on my knees. The cold chill of the marble sends a shiver through me as I perch there.
“What is it you want, Juliet?” she asks, her one hand leaving my hip to trail down my right wing.
Her touch is delicate, but it has a whimper winding up and escaping from my throat.
“Touch me,” I whisper.
I need some sort of release or I feel like I might implode. I can’t even count how many times I’ve touched myself thinking about our kiss from the other night.
Mors’ hand stays on my wing as her lips trail kisses on my collarbone and the column of my throat. She’s torturing me with small pecks of her lips and her tongue against my skin. My whole body feels like it’s on fire, and I never imagined it could feel this good.
I’ve obviously made myself come, but that doesn’t even come close to how intimate and fervent these delicate kisses feel. This need to have Mors touch me everywhere is all-consuming.
“Please, baby.” The term of endearment rolls off my tongue easily.
“Fuck,” Mors hisses.
The hand that was on my wing slides up, grabbing the back of my neck as she crashes her mouth to mine.
Her nails slightly drag against my nape, and I sigh at the feeling. Mors takes advantage, her tongue sliding into my mouth as she kisses me. It’s frantic, needy, and I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.
Mors grips my ass with one hand as I tangle my fingers in her lucious, long hair. Gods, she smells amazing, like vanilla and cinnamon. I’m automatically shifting my hips for friction against her body, and she encourages it.
Her fingers grip the flesh of my ass with as much need as I feel right now. I’m panting into her mouth as her teeth drag along my bottom lip, and she trails wet, hot kisses along the side of my throat. Her hand leaves my ass and I whine, a faint laugh leaving her lips, her breath fanning against my throat as she cups my breasts from the outside of my dress.
She glances up at me, a question of how far I want to take this, as I press her face against my chest. Her fingers are quick, about to tug on the bodice, when I remember the fucking Shamrock tucked in my bra, that in no simple terms can be destroyed.
No matter how badly I want her kissing on my chest, I grab her wrist.
She looks shocked, and almost disappointed, before I trail her hand down my torso to cup my pussy. The fabric of my dress and my panties are between her palm and where I’m undeniably drenched.
Mors smiles and I lean back in to kiss her.
She’s so assured in her touches, her palm sliding back and forth, teasing what’s to come.
“Do you want me to touch your pussy, Juliet?”
