My cock throbs painfully, but I ignore it.
This is for her first.
I settle between her thighs, my breath fanning over her sensitive skin, watching her hips twitch in anticipation. “Lookat you,” I growl, my voice thick with hunger. “So wet for me already. You need this, don’t you, Precious?”
She doesn’t answer, but her eyes—half-lidded, stormy—tell me everything.
I lean in, flattening my tongue against her, lapping her up in one long, slow stroke from entrance to clit. The taste of her explodes on my tongue—tart and sweet, like forbidden fruit in a shadowed garden. She bucks against my mouth, a muffled whimper escaping her, and I pin her hips down with one forearm, holding her steady as I feast.
I lap at her relentlessly, broad strokes that gather her essence, savoring every drop. Her thighs clamp around my head, muscles tensing, but I don’t let up. My tongue delves into her folds, tracing every crease, dipping inside her entrance to taste her deeper. She’s soaking now, her arousal coating my chin, and the sounds—wet, obscene—fill the kitchen like a symphony of surrender.
I move up to her clit, circling it with the tip of my tongue, teasing the sensitive bud until her breaths turn ragged, her fingers tightening in my hair to the point of pain.
“ Hawk…” The word slips from her lips, breathy and broken, and it’s music to my feral ears.
I suck her clit into my mouth, flicking it with precise, rapid strokes, alternating pressure—light, then firm, then light again—building her toward the edge. Her body winds tighter, hips straining against my hold, and I feel the moment she shatters: a full-body shudder, her walls clenching around nothing, a cry tearing from her throat as she cums against my tongue.
I drink her down, lapping through her release, prolonging it until she’s trembling, oversensitive, pushing weakly at my head.
But I’m not finished.
I pull back just enough to look at her—face flushed, eyes glazed, chest heaving—and slide one finger inside her. She’smolten, tight and wet, her inner walls fluttering around the intrusion. I curl it upward, stroking that spot inside her that makes her gasp, my thumb finding her clit and circling lazily.
“That’s it,” I murmur, watching her face as I add a second finger, stretching her, scissoring them to prepare her for what’s coming. She’s so responsive, her body arching off the table, hips rocking into my hand as I pump my fingers in and out, building a rhythm that matches the pulse of her need.
Her breaths turn to moans—soft at first, then louder, unrestrained in a way she only allows here, with me. I curl my fingers harder, thumb pressing firmly on her clit, and she clenches around me, her release crashing over her again.
“Hawk—fuck—” She cums hard, walls spasming around my digits, coating them in her slick.
I work her through it, slowing only when she slumps back, boneless and breathless.
I withdraw my fingers, bringing them to my mouth, licking them clean while she watches. The taste of her lingers, addictive, and my cock aches with the need to be inside her.
“Delicious,” I growl, standing up, shoving my boxers down. My length springs free, hard and heavy, the piercing at the tip glinting in the light—a barbell that catches on her every time, heightening the sensation for us both.
And at the base, hidden in the nest of trimmed hair, her name inked in elegant script: Victoria.
A secret claim, a birthday surprise she hasn’t noticed yet.
I position myself at her entrance, the head of my cock nudging her folds, teasing. She’s slick, ready, and her eyes meet mine—stormy, wanting. I slide in slow, inch by inch, feeling her stretch around me, the piercing dragging along her walls in a way that makes her gasp. She’s tight, perfect, her heat enveloping me like a vice forged just for this. I bottom out, hipsflush against hers, and pause, savoring the connection, the way her body molds to mine.
“Feel that?” I whisper, rolling my hips in a deep, grinding motion. “All for you.”
She nods, biting her lip, and I start moving—slow and deep, each thrust deliberate, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in. I time it, pacing myself against the feral urge to rut hard and fast, building the tension coil by coil.
Her legs wrap around my waist, heels digging into my back, urging me deeper. I lean over her, bracing on my forearms, careful of her wound, our faces inches apart as I thrust, the table creaking under us.
The pace shifts when her moans turn desperate, her nails raking down my back.
I speed up, fucking her harder, faster, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.
I can feel the telltale pressure building at the root of my cock, the knot threatening to balloon with each buck of my hips—thickening, swelling, desperate to lock me tight to her and make this union absolute. But I hold it in check, clenching every ounce of self-control I possess, refusing to give in to the feral demand for total possession.
Victoria’s legs tighten around my waist, squeezing me in, her heels digging deep as if to anchor herself in this reality by driving me deeper into her. Even with the leather bodysuit peeled back only enough to expose what I need, every muscle in her body is alive and responsive beneath my hands—her abdominals taut as cables, her thighs trembling on either side of my ribs, her clavicles slicked with sweat where I licked her raw minutes ago.
I growl, the sound vibrating through my chest and into hers where our bodies are fused. “You like that, don’t you?” I pant into the crook of her neck, my voice splintered by exertion and animal need. She claws at my hair, yanking my mouthup to hers, and bites my lower lip so hard I taste blood. She doesn’t answer, not with words—she never does at her limit—but the way she meets every thrust, the way her body seizes and contracts, the way she’s desperate for friction and release, is eloquent enough.
Her inner walls bear down on me, milking, coaxing, dragging me toward the edge. The knot at my base is agony now, a live wire screaming for completion, but I grit my teeth and keep the rhythm, giving her everything I have before I even think of taking what I want. Her pupils are so blown there’s barely any gray left, just a thin halo around blackness, and her mouth falls open, gasping, her face wild and beautiful and utterly ruined.
