A Sensual Feast
JOHANNA
Corin naked is a sight worth etching permanently into my brain.
His glorious body starfishes against the crisp, striped sheets. Every inch deserves attention, from his long limbs and strong torso to his upstanding cock, with the gentle circle of his knot starting to puff around the base. A mix of cedar and cider infuses the air. Each indrawn breath brings a hint of his taste, increasing my hunger.
His gaze challenges me. His grin shows he knows I’m trying not to salivate.
Where to start?
This is mostly uncharted territory. My sexual experience falls into three distinct categories, none of which have offered anything like the sensual feast before me.
The closest comparison comes from distant memories of my youth, before Max, the same years that included falling in love—and lust—with Dan. But we were young, still figuring ourselves out. The passage of time renders my gauzy recollectionsunreliable when it comes to figuring out what to do—where to begin touching, tasting, indulging—now.
Then, there are the times I spent eking out pleasure on my own, either in stolen moments or when parted from Max, one or the other of us on business trips and I had more time to indulge. My deep experience of playing with myself, with and without toys, doesn’t exactly translate to enjoying pleasure with a partner, leaving me less sure of how to explore passionin company.
Third, and last, there’s Max’s heats: me, Max, and whomever he invited. Yet all Max’s heats shared certain elements in common. I focused mostly on getting him through it as fast as I could. Any pleasure I stole for myself during the process was a side benefit, served with a side of guilt. No matter how many times Max assured me he was okay with me finding joy with his unbound omega self or one of his heat partners, I was always at least partially aware of his distaste for the whole thing.
For the first time in decades, I’m with a man who will remember and enjoy the memory of what we do together without guilt or pressure.
I mean to make the most of every moment.
It doesn’t matter that, if this goes well—and I refuse to accept any alternative—I’ll have more opportunities. Since Max’s death, a clock has been in the back of my head, a constant reminder that life offers no guarantees.
Enjoy today, because we never know what tomorrow has in store.
Enjoy Corin laid out before me, not just because it’s the first time, but because we’re both alive to find joy in each other.
Oh, I will feast on him.
Especially while I have him at my whim, because I know alphas in general, and Corin in particular, love control. I’m surehe’s already planning to turn things to his advantage, regaining the upper hand.
I start by telling him to roll over.
He gives me a side-eyed glare, then turns to lie on his belly. He shifts to the center of the bed, his head turned to the left. Still splayed out like a starfish. His body hides his cock from me, but not the bulge of his balls and a hint of his knot. Intriguing as these are, I’m more drawn to the breadth of his shoulders, the curve of his buttocks.
The view is as lovely from the back as the front.
Clearly delineated muscles line his upper back and arms—the source of his unexpected strength. Nicely-rounded buttocks and long legs complete the picture.
Easing my way onto the bed, I jerk as the mattress settles under my weight, creaking and crunching, but soon tune those out.
I swing one leg over his body and settle with my knees to either side of his hips. My bottom rests just below his. The skin on his thighs is unexpectedly soft, but the coarse hairs tickle as they brush against my skin when I move.
Following his example from this morning, I map him with hands and kisses—though I mix both, rather than hands andthenkisses. Nor am I as dedicated as he was to exploring from head to toe or the reverse. There will be other opportunities for me to touch and caress, surely, and the clock is ticking on how long he’ll stay under me.
I focus on hitting the highlights first, ensuring I get as many as possible in before he wrests back control. I may be a hypocrite, having told him it’s about the journey while centering my attention on all the top destinations myself, but I don’t think he’ll mind much.
My first choice is to stroke and shape his curvy backside. As with his thighs, his skin proves softer than expected. Slippinga hand down, I cup his balls and weigh them: nice and heavy. Maybe I run a finger or two around his knot in the process, given the deep groan that escapes him, but I stay away from the rest of his cock. Time enough for that later.
Keeping my knees planted, I lean forward, running my hands up his back. All those lovely muscles, tensing and straining under my touch. His shoulders beckon. My fingers itch to trace their expanse, slipping around the curves where shoulders link to arms, digging in to mark the lines of bones.
Laying almost flat atop him, I rub my chest against the stretch of his back, seeking to ease the ache in my breasts as I measure his shoulders. My nipples are tightly rucked, and pressing on his muscles only increases their tenderness. As he groans, fingers twitching, I soak in the strength of bones and muscles I’ll be able to feel but not see when we’re face-to-face, imagining how they’ll look with my fingerprints from holding hard as he fucks me.
Then, I nestle my head into the curve between neck and shoulders. Rub my cheek against him. Scent mark him, even if I can’t smell it, becausehecan.
Another groan escapes him. His torso expands and contracts with the motion of his lungs, pressing up against me.
