I added a second finger and watched her come undone.
Love.
I loved the way she squirmed beneath me, chasing pleasure she didn't have to earn.
Loved the sounds she made—breathless, desperate, trusting.
Loved that she let me see her like this. Open. Wanting.
I loved her.
The taste of her lingered on my tongue—sweet as nectar.
I licked in tandem with my fingers, building her higher.
Her thighs trembled against my shoulders.
Her fingers twisted in my hair, pulling hard enough to sting.
She was close. I could feel it in the flutter around my fingers.
Then—soft as a prayer.
"Please, Master. Can I come?"
Master.
The word hit my chest like a fist.
I groaned against her, the sound vibrating through us both.
"Yes. Come for me, Emma."
She came apart beautifully.
The release crashed through her in waves—her cry filling the room.
Then the flood. Hot and sweet, soaking my chin, my hand, the sheets.
I didn't pull away.
I drank her in, lapping at everything she gave me, groaning at the taste of her pleasure.
She trembled through it, aftershocks rolling through her as I gentled my touch, easing her down.
Love.
All of this—every sound, every shudder, every drop.
I kept my touch light, fingers slowing but not stopping, holding her in that fragile space between recovery and wanting.
Then I moved.
I kissed my way up her body—her stomach trembling beneath my lips, her ribs rising and falling with shaky breaths.
The tips of her breasts were pulled tight.
"Oh—" Her voice broke, as I stole one with my mouth. "Damien, I can't—"
