"What are you?"
"Your whore." The words spill out of her like she can't stop them, like she's too desperate to care about shame or dignity. "Your desperate little whore who needs to come on her husband's face. Please, Ilay, I'm begging you, I can't take anymore."
"Come."
She shatters beneath me.
Her scream echoes through the suite and bounces off the windows and I'm certain every guest on this floor knows exactly what's happening in the penthouse right now and I hope they choke on their jealousy. Her back bows off the mattress so sharply I think she might snap in half. Her thighs clamp around my head so tight I can barely breathe. Her cunt pulses around my fingers in wave after wave of release that seems to go on forever while I lap at her and drink down everything she gives me.
I don't stop.
I work her through every tremor and every aftershock, my tongue on her clit and my fingers buried deep inside her, drawing out her orgasm until she's shaking and sobbing and babbling incoherently and begging me to stop because it's too much, too intense, too overwhelming.
And then something happens that I wasn't expecting.
I didn't touch myself, not once, not even a single stroke. I've been hard since she turned around and let me unzip that dress, aching and leaking and desperate for relief, but I refused to give myself anything because tonight was supposed to be about her, about worshipping her, about showing her what she means to me.
But watching her fall apart beneath me, feeling her cunt squeeze my fingers like she never wants to let me go, tasting her release on my tongue, hearing my name ripped from her throat like it's a prayer and a curse and a benediction all at once—
It's enough.
My hips jerk against the mattress without my permission and a groan tears from my throat against her pussy as I come, spilling onto the sheets beneath me without a single touch, my whole body shuddering with the force of it while she's still trembling from her own release.
Her body goes limp against the mattress. Her breathing comes in ragged gasps. Her legs fall open and release my head from their grip.
"Did you just..."
"Shut up."
"You came." She lifts her head from the pillow to look at me and her expression is a mix of disbelief and absolute delight that makes me want to fuck that smug look right off her face. "I didn't even touch you."
"I said shut up."
"From eating me out? Just from tasting me and fingering me? You came on the mattress like that?"
I lift my head and my chin is wet and my eyes are dark and I know I should feel embarrassed but all I feel is hungry for more of her.
"You have no idea what you do to me, Iris."
"Apparently I do." A smile spreads across her face, slow and satisfied and insufferably smug. "My husband just came on the mattress like a teenager because I taste that good."
"Iris."
"I'm going to remember this forever. I'm going to think about this every time you try to act all dominant and in control."
"I will ruin you for that comment."
"Promise?"
I push myself up off the bed and stand over her while she's still sprawled across the sheets looking flushed and satisfied and entirely too pleased with herself.
It won't last.
"On your stomach. Now."
"I just came so hard I saw stars, I can't possibly—"
"You can. You will. I'm not done with you, not even close, and we have all night for me to take you apart and put you back together again."
