Dante strokes himself, waiting, his weeping tip a breath away from my parted lips. Battling back my squeamishness, I stick out my tongue and flick it over his engorged head. His body rattles like my serpent’s when I pet his dorsal fins.
Two different species and yet the same reaction. How Dante would detest the comparison.
I swirl my tongue over his skin that’s as smooth as Tarecuorin silk and as salty as Mareluce. He groans, and I swear the guttural sound vibrates the walls of his tent. Emboldened, I ease him into my mouth.
“Your hands, Fal.” His chin falls against his chest, his lids at half-mast. “Use your hands on me.” He nods to my fists, which lay balled atop my bare thighs.
I raise one to his throbbing length and the other to his heavy sack.
As I knead and stroke him, his fingers thread through my hair and his hips begin to rock. He drives himself in so deep, my throat clenches. I choke and try to pull back, but his palm pins my head.
I smack his muscled thighs, and although I don’t manage to shift him, I do manage to lean away and spit him out. “Don’t push my head.”
“Sorry.” His fingers freeze before sparking back to life and smoothing down my hair.
“Or pet me.” Who knew I’d have such strong opinions about an act I’m performing for the first time?
He raises his palms and holds them aloft.
Realizing I’m killing the mood, I murmur, “Sorry. It’s my first time and—”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for, Fal.” He leans over me, his palms skating down my neck and over the slope of my shoulders. “Absolutely nothing.” He nudges my mouth with his and kisses me, softening me with each sweep of his tongue. When the line of tension in my shoulders finally drops, he disengages our lips and crouches before me. “Have you ever explored your body?”
I swallow deeply as his palms sail to my bared breasts.
“Have you ever made yourself come?” He squeezes the soft globes of flesh, electrifying every last blood cell in my body.
“Yes.”
“Show me where you touch yourself.”
I slide my lower lip between my teeth, cheeks prickling with heat. “Why? Do you suspect my erogenous zones are in peculiar places?”
A low chuckle shakes his chest. “You’d be surprised what some people like.” He releases my breasts and slides his palms over my thighs, then cinches my knees and pulls them apart. “I think you touched yourself . . .” He runs the heel of his hand over my underwear, pupils dilating at the dampness he encounters. “Right. Here.”
I hold my breath, before gasping out a, “Yes.”
He repeats the motion, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh. “Hips up, Fal.”
I dig my palms into the mattress and lift myself just high enough for him to roll down my underwear. Once it falls to the floor, he glides a finger to my opening and circles it before sinking in knuckle-deep. I blow out a ragged breath at the intrusion.
To think it’s only a finger, and a rather slender one at that.
He drags it in and out until my walls squelch around him. “Look at how ready you are for me.”
My heart beats as fast as my thighs tambourine.
After a few more thrusts, he tows his digit out and skates it back up my slit. To my regret, he skips right over my clit, caressing instead my hollow stomach and buttoned navel, and the seam of my ribs. When he reaches my breasts, he toys with my nipple, rubbing and pinching it.
Although the friction is uncomfortable, I’ve craved the feel of Dante’s hands for far too long to ask him to stop. He approaches his mouth to the tender skin he’s kneading and laves the sharpened point.
Although it doesn’t light up my body, the sensation is tolerable. He licks my other breast, then peppers gossamer kisses across my collarbone, leaning over me until my spine unspools.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
“For what, Dante?”
He climbs over me, heavy cock flopping between our bodies. “For saving yourself for me.”
