I continue my descent, mapping every dip and curve of her body with my mouth. The underside of her breast. The soft skin of her belly. The sharp jut of her hipbone. Each spot earns a different sound from her—a sigh, a moan, a breathless gasp—and I catalog them all, learning what makes her shiver.
Her hands fist in the sheets as I kiss lower, tongue tracing the crease where her thigh meets her pelvis.
"Wait—" Her voice is breathless, uncertain. "You don't have to?—"
I lift my head to meet her gaze. Those storm-gray eyes are wide, pupils blown with desire but also confusion. Like she can't quite believe what I'm about to do.
The realization hits me hard:she's never had this.
That bastard probably never even touched her except to take his own pleasure. Never bothered to learn what she liked, what made her scream, what would make her fall apart.
Well. I'm about to ruin her for anyone else.
"I want to." I press a kiss to her inner thigh, feeling her tremble under my lips. "Want to taste you. Make you come on my tongue. Want to hear you scream my name when you fall apart."
Her breath comes in sharp pants now, chest heaving. "I don't... I've never..."
"I know." Another kiss, higher this time. Closer to where she's already wet for me. "Trust me?"
She nods, fingers uncurling from the sheets to reach for me instead. "Yes."
That single word is all I need.
I settle between her thighs, spreading her legs wider to make room for my shoulders. She's already glistening, arousal coating her inner thighs, and the scent of her—gods, thescent—makes my mouth water.
I start slow. Just a gentle brush of my tongue along her slit, tasting her for the first time since the Masquerade. She gasps above me, hips jerking, and I have to hold her steady with my hands on her thighs.
"Fuck," I breathe against her skin. "You taste incredible."
Then I dive in properly.
I lick and suck and explore, learning the shape of her with my tongue. Finding the places that make her moan louder, that make her thighs clench around my head. When I close my lips around her clit and suck gently, she cries out—a sharp, broken sound that goes straight to my cock.
I'm so hard it's painful, straining against the front of my pants, but I ignore it. This isn't about me. This is abouther.
About making her understand what it feels like to be cherished.
I work her slowly, methodically, building her pleasure with every stroke of my tongue. She's writhing now, hands alternating between gripping my hair and fisting the sheets, those beautiful sounds pouring from her throat without restraint.
"Lorenth—oh gods—I can't?—"
"You can." I pull back just enough to speak, my breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh. "You're going to come for me, Senna. Going to fall apart on my tongue and scream my name while you do it."
Before she can respond, I seal my mouth over her clit again, this time adding pressure. Two fingers slide into her—slick and easy—and I curve them upward, searching for that spot that will make her see stars.
I find it.
Shescreams.
Her entire body goes taut, back arching off the bed as the orgasm crashes through her. I feel her clench around my fingers, pulsing and hot, and I keep working her through it—licking and sucking and pumping my fingers—until she's gasping and shaking and pulling at my hair.
"Too much—I can't?—"
Only then do I ease off, pressing one last gentle kiss to her inner thigh before crawling back up her body.
She looks wrecked. Hair mussed, lips parted and swollen, skin flushed all the way down to her chest. And her eyes—those storm-gray eyes are glazed with pleasure, staring up at me like I just gave her the world.
Maybe I did.
