“Alistair,” I breathed, my core already tightening.
“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” he asked.
“Yes,” I moaned and reached down, grabbing his horns while I rode his face.
“That’s it. Take what you need,” he groaned between each lap of his tongue.
He was eating my pussy like I was a Michelin Star meal.
Alistair latched onto my clit with his lips, sucking hard, and that was it.
“Fuck!” I screamed as I tipped over the edge, my thighs quaking against his face with my orgasm.
It was intense, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through my body. It was better than anything I’d been able to give myself, especially since menopause.
And definitely better than Don had ever made me feel.
He continued to gently lick my clit until my body softened, and I released his horns.
“What do you think?” he asked, smirking up at me. He was obviously pleased with himself. “Can you give me another one?”
His fingers pushed inside of me before I could answer, drawing a moan from me as he caressed my G-spot.
Could I go again?
Gasping, I gripped the sheets, focusing on how full I felt with his wide fingers inside me.
It was one night. One amazing date and one night together.
I could definitely go again.
“I-I can give you another one,” I sputtered. “And—and then I want you to fuck me.”
“Mmm,” he said, rubbing his damp face along the soft expanse of my inner thigh. “I love a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it.”
He rubbed my clit again, making tiny figure eights with the tip of his tongue and mimicking the movement internally with his fingers. As sensitive as I was from the first orgasm, it was perfect. Each soft, gentle touch, each glide of his tongue, made my pussy throb.
There was no way I was already close again.
Given Alistair's sexual prowess, it was obvious that his experience far outweighed my own—but I didn't fucking care. At that moment, I had his full attention, and that's all that mattered.
He replaced his tongue with his thumb, pulling back to look at me while he soothed his finger over my clit. “I can feel you clenching my fingers, beautiful. I want to see how pretty you look when you scream my name. I want to watch you come undone against my fingertips.”
I loved that he wanted to watch me, that his main focus was me and my pleasure. It was all the things I’d read about in my romance books—he was like a pleasure dom—deriving satisfaction from how good he made me feel.
He pressed down on my clit, quickly dragging his thumb back and forth, his wide fingers pumping in and out.
“Fuck,” I moaned. Feeling my center tense, I arched my back and closed my eyes, waiting for my orgasm to sweep over me.
“Look at me, Pam,” Alistair called from between my legs. “I want those pretty green eyes watching me while I make you come.”
I forced my eyes open and peered down at him while he stroked my clit. The tips of his fingers curled over my G-spot again, and again, and again, until I cried out from the intensity of my orgasm.
“That’s it,” he purred. His movements slowed, and he withdrew his fingers. “You look so beautiful when you come for me.”
Alistair peppered my inner thighs with soft kisses, then peered up at me with a smug smile on his face. “You alright up there?”
I let out a deep breath. “I think I had an out-of-body experience.”
