I hook my fingers into the band and pause.
Her eyes are on me, bright and steady.
“May I?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. “Please.”
I peel her jeans and underwear down in one slow, careful motion, taking in every new inch of exposed skin like I’m being granted access to a temple.
She kicks them free, breath shuddering.
For a moment, I just… look.
She is spread out beneath me—hair wild on the pillow, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, thighs parted in an invitation that feels less like seduction and more like trust made visible.
My vision goes hot around the edges.
“Sophia,” I whisper. “My goddess of sharp words and sharper truth.”
“You’re the one quoting poetry right now,” she says, voice shaking.
“Wait,” I murmur. “Then I give you worship.”
I settle between her thighs, hands resting on her hips, thumbs tracing idle circles into the soft skin.
The heat of her hits me like a wave.
I bend, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of one knee. Then the other. Then higher, along the tender skin of her inner thighs. She squirms, a small, helpless movement that makes me smile against her.
“Flavius,” she breathes.
“Yes,” I say.
I kiss the place where her thigh meets her pelvis, feel the jump of her pulse there.
Then I finally put my mouth where her body has been calling me since I walked in.
The first slow stroke of my tongue makes her whole body jolt.
Her hands fly to my hair, fingers threading in tight.
“Oh—” The sound tears out of her, raw and astonished. “Oh.”
I hum against her, the vibration making her hips dance.
I take my time.
This is not obligation. This is devotion.
I trace her with my tongue, learning the places where she goes soft and liquid, the places where she stiffens and gasps. I circle the tight bundle of nerves at the top of her with the lightesttouch, then give her more when she arches, but never more than she can bear.
Her legs tighten around my shoulders, thighs trembling.
She is wet—slick and hot and tasting like something I don’t have a word for that doesn’t sound like prayer.
“Yes… there, please, right there—” Her voice is high and broken.
I answer with my mouth—pressing, stroking, sucking in the rhythm I’ve already learned from her breathing. My hands hold her hips steady, thumbs rubbing small circles against her hipbones to remind her she’s here, that there is a body under all that sensation.
