I love the shiver that squirms down her spine, along with the half mewl that claws up her throat. She absentmindedly throws her head back, allowing me a straight shot of her glorious, unmarked neck, and my excitement is nothing less than the giddiness of an arsonist in a room full of flammable materials. I’ve only explored a quarter of her body, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t begun blueprinting every erogenous zone on my beautiful, obedient girl.
With the flaxen moon tucked into a quilt of clouds, the rays it casts are few and far between, illuminating the motes that float through the sex-tainted air. Staten glimmers underneath the light—halcyon personified—breathing shallowly in anticipation of my next move, bracing herself for the itch I still have. My longing for her suffocates me like cling film.
Abandoning the angry twitch of my cock, I focus on pleasingher, starting with a march of butterfly kisses that I inscribe into the damp flesh of her neck. She scoots closer to me, wrapping her arms around my torso to stabilize herself, her nails prepared to tear open my skin when I hit that sweet spot.
I tug at the dress that’s currently hindering my movements. “Can I take this off?”
“Yeah,” she breathes, releasing her fingers from my back, subservient under the promise of reprieve.
I slowly peel her dress off, unveiling the world’s finest magnus opus of slender curves and smooth skin and breastsjust large enough to fit in the palms of my hands. I’ve never seen her so vulnerable before. Honestly, I never thought we’d get this far. I can’t stop staring at her, even though my body is screaming at me to do something—anything. Hunger pollinates the little seed of desire planted between my ribs.
Her chuckle is reminiscent of a chainsaw rip. “Are you just going to stare at me all night?”
“Fuck yes. I’m not going to risk missing a single part of your body. I’m laying my eyes on the most beautiful girl in the entire universe, and you expect me not to take my sweet time?”
Maybe it’s the delirium or the darkness playing tricks on me, but I swear the barest hint of a blush appears on her cheeks. “I’m notthatspecial,” she claims.
I’m not careful, this foreplay is going to be over in two seconds. Everything hurts. My cock, my stomach, my jaw from grinding my teeth so hard. I want Staten seeing stars by the time I’m done with her; I want her walking sideways for an entire week.
I run my tongue over my teeth. “Oh, baby. Let me show you just how wrong you are.”
Before she has the chance to misplace her confidence again, I tether my hand into her hair to get a good grip, gently yank her head back, then use my tongue to snake a wet path up the length of her throat, flicking over that delicate pulse point. Her fingernails aren’t just doling out little love taps—no, they’re scratching at the corded slab of muscle over my trapezius. I suck a bruise into her tender skin, switching between bites and kisses to the point where I can’t tell which one gets her hips rutting off the mattress.
Staten moans, pushing her tits out to me in search of more stimulation. Her hair is a wild fan behind her, and small dots of sweat have inhabited their rightful place on her hairline. “I—I can’t show up to work with a hickey,” she mumbles, her words slightly slurred.
“What? You don’t want everyone to know you’re mine?” I tease, moving my mouth down to the shelf of her collarbone, then to the tops of her boobs. Her pert nipples are pebbled from arousal—the dusky, rose buds beckoning me—and my saliva glands overproduce at the sight of them.
Bantering isn’t really my go-to during sex, you know? I like to get to the good stuff and let my body do the talking, but I can’t pass up the opportunity to at least play with her a little. I’m sadistic that way. Sue me.
“They already know I’m yours,” she says, still lying in the stickiness of her previous orgasm, some leftover leakage glued to the insides of her thighs.
My lips trace the curve of her tit, and my teeth enclose around her nipple to tug on it. I refrain from full contact, waiting to see which one of us will fold first. “Uh-huh, but I want to hear you say it.”
I don’t know how I still have anything left in me, but my dick is straining against the confines of my pants, needing to bury itself inside her over and over again until the only name she remembers is mine.
Another conceding whimper. Another stab of her nails into my goddamn shoulder blades. “I’m yours.”
Two words stripped of showy falseness—two words that leave my stomach swirling with a preternatural happiness that makes up for all the second-guessing and the imposter syndrome and the cyclone of thoughts that have plagued me ever since Staten entered my topsy-turvy life.
I clamp my mouth fully over her nipple, and I hollow my cheeks to get a good suction. It doesn’t take much for her to wrap her legs around my lower back, pulling us closer, her bare pussy begging me to fill it to the brim.
My fingers come up to fondle the mound of her boob—to use it as my own personal plaything. Between the pressure from my hands and mouth—not to mention the blissed-outlook on her face—the cinching of my balls is making the room in my pants nonexistent. I need to get these fuckers off.
Staten’s movements are stunted, as if she’s sinking into a tussock-lined depression with no urgency to find her footing. “Oh, God. Fuck, Knox.”
When I pop off her tit, the area is slathered in spit and teeth impressions. I continue to squeeze her boob with one hand while I descend down her stomach, kissing every inch of skin like I’m worshipping her at the altar. And then I kitten-lick her belly button.
She nearly combusts, and I have to grab the metaphorical thread to stop her from unraveling. The closer I get to her sex, the harder she begins to thrash. She’s completely shaved down there, and her cunt still look exceptionally swollen.
“You poor thing. I’ve been neglecting this perfect pussy, haven’t I? Look at her, making a mess all over my sheets. Does my dirty girl need another orgasm?”
She nods ten times in a row, about ready to tear my head off if I don’t skip to the good bit. A wolf in sheep’s clothing—a revelation that the two of us are cut from the same bloody, sharp-fanged cloth.
“I need it.Please.I’m so wet. I—I’m so horny. I just need the pain to stop.”
“Is this your first?—”
I don’t have to finish my question. I somehow already know the answer.
