She heard him moving.
Seven.
She held very still, practically denying herself the liberty of breathing freely, afraid she would be caught too soon.
Eight. Nine.
And then ten, and silence, closely followed the sound of footsteps on the grass. It sounded unhurried, moving in the wrong direction first, then it seemed as though he changed his mind and headed in the opposite direction, and she pressed herself harder against the stone wall and held her breath.
The footsteps stopped.
“I can see you,” Cecil informed her casually, almost directly in front of her, in a voice so quiet it was almost a breath.
“You cannot.” She responded without thinking.
“I can see the white of your hands against the stone.”
She looked down and discovered, to her retrospective mortification, that this was entirely true.
He came forward. He stopped just within reach and looked at her – really looked, the way he had looked at her before, with that total, leisured attention that made her feel simultaneously seen and unsteady.
“Last chance,” he said softly. “Tell me to stop.”
She did not tell him to stop.
And so, he did not, reaching down to pull her into his arms. Once she was close enough, he tilted her chin up with a hand and licked into her mouth. Penelope felt her body grow limp against him, and she sighed breathlessly, arching into his touch as he groped at her breasts with his other hand.
“You have been so cruel tonight,” he murmured against the volume of her neck, his hands kneading the voluptuous flesh of her behind. “And yet I have never been more aroused in my life. You are quite the vixen.”
His complaints barely felt like such when his hands worshipped her body and his lips between her with hot kisses that took more and more strength from her legs. He dipped a hand between her legs and groaned at the wetness he found there, making her cheeks burn.
“I want to taste you,” Cecil huffed, then he stepped back slightly, pointing at the head of the stone bench. “Hold onto that, spread your legs, and lift your hips.”
Nervously, Penelope did as she was asked, gasping when he grabbed her face to kiss her, her new position leaving her completely vulnerable in a way that sacred and excited her. He stroked her with his fingers, swallowing her moans, whispering encouragement as she began to shake.
“I long to taste you,” he groaned again, sounding more affected than she had ever heard him. “I have never felt this excited — this desperate to touch a woman before.”
Penelope panted as his fingers drove in deeper, her hands barely managing to hold her up as she asked,
“Is this… is this pleasurable for you as well?”
He smiled down at her, moving to stand behind her, with his fingers still stroking her slowly. Cecil dropped himself lightly over her back, pushing her hair out of her face so he could whisper in her ear,
“This is my punishment, so I will not be seeking any pleasurable relief for myself. But for you, my angel…”
He trailed off suddenly and dropped to his knees. Penelope was confused at first, then she felt something wet and hot stroke her entrance, and her knees buckled slightly.
“No — wait —”
Cecil’s tongue plunged into her, sliding in beside his fingers, and she felt the edge of her limits draw closer. He seemed to draw the same conclusion and began to lick at her center with renewed fervor, like a man starved.
Penelope’s body grew taut, and she helplessly squealed pleas, but her begging fell on deaf ears. It felt as though she wasbeing ignited from within, gasps escaping her lips as his tongue plunged deeply between her folds. The sensations were unimaginable, causing her to arch her back as she tried to hold onto her sanity.
That idea vanished the moment his hands slid up from where they had been placed at the back of her thighs, to her buttocks, spreading them apart so he had better access to her.
“C-Cecil,” Penelope moaned with a surprised squeak. “Please, wait – I can no longer – ah!”
“Go on, angel,” he murmured, leaning to the side to playfully nip at the back of her thigh. “Do not think too much. Just focus on how good you feel.”
