"Oh." The sound escapes me as cool air kisses my most intimate places.
He presses his lips to the curve of my ass, and a moan rumbles from his chest. "Your skin responds to the slightest touch." His tongue traces one of the painted leaves, licking away Luna's artwork one stroke at a time. "So sensitive. So fucking perfect."
I press back against him, shimmying my hips, wanting more of whatever he's willing to give. He alternates between licking the paint away and sinking his teeth into my flesh, pleasure and pain braiding together until I can't tell them apart.
"Please." The word comes out as a desperate whisper. I rest my cheek against the glass, letting the coolness soothe the heat consuming me from within.
His grip tightens on my ass, spreading me open, and then his tongue finds my clit.
I nearly come off the glass.
He circles that swollen bundle of nerves. Once. Twice. My fingers spread wide, palms pressed flat, trying to ground myself against the onslaught of sensation.
"Take the pleasure, my beautiful jungle flower." His breath is hot against my wet flesh. "Let your body feel everything I want to give you."
His tongue works my clit with devastating precision, licking and sucking and driving me toward an edge I can see but can't quite reach. All the while, his thumb teases my other entrance, pressing gently, not penetrating, just letting me know he could. The forbidden sensation makes me buck and groan.
"Oh God, yes. Please, more."
He growls against my folds, and the vibration sends shockwaves through my core. Hot liquid spills from me, and he's right there to lap it up, greedy and thorough.
Just when I think I can't take any more, he spins me around and presses my back to the glass. It's warm now from my body heat, slick with condensation from my ragged breaths.
"Now I want you to watch me." His eyes lock onto mine, burning with intent. "Watch me devour this beautiful flower."
Luna's artistry covers me even here, a bloom of petals framing my pussy, the center of the flower being the most intimate part of me. My friend laughed while she painted it. I cringed. But now, seeing my lover position himself between my thighs, his masked face descending toward her creation, I understand the purpose.
He lifts one of my legs over his shoulder and buries his face against my core.
The first stroke of his tongue makes me cry out. The second makes my knees buckle. By the third, I'm gripping his hair with both hands, riding his face with an abandon I didn't know I possessed.
"That's it." His voice is muffled against my flesh. "Take what you need. Use me for your pleasure."
I look down at him, this beautiful stranger with his mouth on my pussy and his hands gripping my ass, and the intimacy of the moment crashes over me. For once, someone wants me. Not my name, not my family's money, not what I can do for them. Just me.
The thought shatters what's left of my control.
The orgasm rips through me with the force of a summer storm, my vision going white at the edges, my entire body convulsing against his relentless mouth. I scream his borrowed name as I fall apart.
When I can breathe again, when my vision clears, I find him watching me with something like wonder in his dark eyes. He rises slowly, my release glistening on his lips, and his smile makes my heart stutter.
"You're a goddess." He lifts me easily, and I wrap my legs around his waist, clinging to him as he carries me to the bed. "An absolute fucking goddess."
He sets me on the edge of the mattress and steps back, and I watch with hungry eyes as he undresses for me.
The shirt falls away first, revealing the full expanse of his chest. The dusting of dark hair, the ridges of muscle, the panther and the viper and all the thorns and roses between. He's sculpted like something from a Renaissance painting, all power and masculine beauty, and he's older than me by at least a decade. A hint of silver threads through his long, dark hair. The fine lines at the corners of his eyes along with the salt-and-pepper of his trimmed beard give him a distinguished look. I didn't know I had a preference for older men until this exact moment.
He reaches back and tugs at the leather cord holding his hair in place. The black waves tumble free, falling to brush past his shoulders, and the sight of him like this, wild and untamed, steals what little breath I've managed to recover.
His hands move to his belt, and I hold my breath.
"Turn for me." The words leave my lips before I can think better of them. "Let me see all of you."
He pauses, surprise flickering across his features, but then he complies. Slowly, he turns, letting me drink in every angle of him. More scars on his back. More ink. The panther's body curving around to his spine. The viper's tail draped over his shoulder. His dark hair cascades down his back, a curtain of midnight against all that inked skin. He's been hurt and healed and decorated with stories I may never know.
When he faces me again, his hands resume their work on his belt. The buckle clinks, the zipper descends, and then he's pushing his slacks down his muscular thighs.
I forget how to breathe.
