I lower my head, tracing my mouth over the swell of her breasts where they spill from the top of her bra. My hands caress the soft curve of her abdomen and the luscious shape of her hips. She feels sacred in my hands—every breath, every tremor a reminder that she’s flesh and blood and still beyond me.A goddess in borrowed light,I think. And I’d kneel a thousand times to prove it.
The thought becomes action before I can stop it. I slide down, my hands gliding along her thighs as I sink to my knees.
It’s devotion, laced with hunger—the only way I know to worship what’s already mine.
To kneel before her is to acknowledge what she is to me: not a conquest, but a kind of divinity. A supplicant at her altar, I look up and find her still, lips parted, cheeks flushed with desire.
I slide my hands under the hem of her skirt, lifting it just enough to show her what I’m asking for.
“May I?” My voice is rough with want.
She stills at the question and I see recognition spark—both of us thrown back to Le Baroque’s private garden, the secluded alcove washed in lantern light, spring air and stone at our backs. The first time I had a taste of her.
That shared memory hums between us, an old vow quietly renewed.
Just as she had that night, she gathers the hem of her skirt in trembling hands, then she nods.
The pleats rise to reveal her thigh-high stockings, sheer at the top where the elastic presses into skin. She shivers when I lean in, when my mouth finds the delicate weave and traces along it, a tease that draws a tortured sound from her throat.
Above the stockings is more blush-toned lace, the perfect match to what I already uncovered. I hook a finger beneath the fine edge, easing it aside and revealing my prize.
My fingertips trail along her slit teasingly, making her whimper.
“Your pussy is so fucking pretty, baby,” I praise as I part her already slick folds. “I need to have it.”
I lift one of her legs over my shoulder, spreading her wider, before diving in for a single lick, long, slow, and deep. She squirms against my tongue, her fingers spearing into my hair.
“Will you let me have it?” I slide two fingers inside her and curl upward, watching with rapt attention as her eyes roll back in pleasure. “Can I haveyou?”
“Yes,” she replies breathlessly. “It’s yours. I’m yours. All yours.”
I lift her opposite leg to my shoulder so she’s straddling my face as I push her into the wall. I splay one hand across her stomach to hold her in place while the other wraps around her plush thigh, fingers digging in hard.
Then, I make a feast of her against the wall, fastening my lips over her hot, glistening flesh. The taste of her…dear god,the taste of her.I will never tire of it. Each time I go down on her, she only gets sweeter.
I bury my face in her sex, greedy for every sound and every tremor, but I remind myself to stay deliberate in the way I take her in. She’s meant to be savored, after all.
And why rush? She’s staying the night…and every night after. At long last, I have all the time in the world.
I trace my tongue along each side and then straight through her center, ravishing every part of her pussy except her clit. I make sure to draw out every twitch and gasp as she writhes against my mouth, fruitlessly chasing what I refuse to give just yet.
Her desperation is a palpable thing. While I loathe the thought of her suffering, I can’t deny the grim satisfaction of giving her a taste of what she’s done to me these past months.This is only a fraction of it—a shadow of the hunger she’s forced me to live with while I waited for her answer.
But she’s trembling now, her thighs clamping tight around my shoulders. I drag my hand down and slide two fingers into her, her slick arousal easing the way. Her pussy clenches around my digits as I scissor them inside her.
“Nate…” Her voice is a broken plea. “Give me more…Please…”
She’s so polite, even when she’s begging, and it makes me grin against her skin. Try as I might, I was never built to deny her—so I give her exactly what she needs.
At last, I suck her clit into my mouth, tongue rolling and flicking in time with the thrust of my fingers. She’s so swollen, her nub a sweet little berry as I lap at it with my tongue.
She bucks, her cries raw and unfiltered, her need spilling over. “Oh my god,” she moans, grinding against my mouth. “Please,more.”
And that’s exactly what I give her—pulsing pulls of her clit as I fuck her cunt harder with my fingers.
“So…good…” Her fingers tug my hair almost painfully, but I remain focused on my mission, wringing every ounce of pleasure from her with my tongue while I caress her full hips and ass with my hands, holding her steady as I feast.
She comes with a silent scream, hips rocking frantically against my mouth, soaking my lips and chin as she comes apart above me. But I’m nowhere close to being done—and neither is she.
