“You are the most responsive little thing I’ve ever met,” he says. “I’m going to have so much fun breaking you open.”
He presses the vibrator against the inside of my thigh again—right there, just close enough to make my hips twitch—but doesn’t move it. The slow burn of sensation is maddening, but before I can even whimper a complaint, I feel the bed shift.
“Turn over,” he murmurs.
My breath catches.
I obey, my limbs trembling as I shift to my back, blindfold still snug against my eyes. The air feels cooler now, a new vulnerability crackling across my skin.
He leans in and presses a kiss just under my breast, where the gel still tingles. Then another, just over my nipple. His tongue traces the tight peak, teasing it with slow, swirling licks before he draws it into his mouth and sucks, softly, then rougher, just enough to make me gasp.
I arch into it—helpless, shameless—and he rewards me by switching to the other nipple, scraping his teeth just barely over the edge. Every nerve in my body is on fire.
Then I feel him shifting again, trailing his mouth lower, down my stomach, past the waistband of the red panties he asked me to wear. He slides them down with agonizing care.
“Open for me, goddess,” he says.
My legs fall apart on instinct.
The first lick is devastating—hot, slow, like fire on my skin. A long, firm stroke of his tongue that sends shockwaves through my core. Then he does it again, gentler this time, teasing, circling.
“Oh… oh my god…”
He finds my clit and flattens his tongue against it, licking in wide, steady patterns. Then he hums.
That vibration? Unfair.
I grab the sheets as a cry bursts from my throat, hips bucking—but his hands are firm on my thighs, keeping me pinned, keeping me open. Letting me feel everything.
And when I come, it’s loud. My whole body jerks and arches. I don't know if I’m cursing or praying.
But he doesn’t stop.
Before I can even recover, he’s already shifting the rhythm, tonguing me harder, suckling, devouring. My thighs tremble, toes curling. It’s too much—but not enough.
And then it happens again.
I come undone again, crying out his name, gripping the mattress like it might keep me tethered to the earth.
When I finally catch my breath, my voice is soft and wrecked. “Please,” I whisper. “Please take off my blindfold. I want to see you.”
There’s a pause. I sense him standing. The sound of movement, something being picked up. Adjusted.
Then comes his voice again. It’s low, dark, electric.
“Okay. But don’t move until I say.”
My pulse hammers.
I feel the blindfold loosen. It falls away.
And when I open my eyes?—
Oh. My. God.
He’s naked. Completely.
Wearing the same mask from Mont du Marquette—the one I never forgot, the one that stirred things in me I didn’t have names for. But now, his whole body is visible.
