"I know."
"Tamsin—"
"I trust you."
The words break something in him.
He lowers his head between my thighs, his breath hot against my pussy.
And then hetastesme.
I cry out, my back arching off the furs.
His tongue is broad, flat, impossibly hot as it drags along my slit. He licks me like he's starving, like I'm the first meal he's had in centuries.
My hands fly to his head, my fingers tangling in the short ridges along his skull.
"Cyprian—fuck—"
He doesn't stop.
He works my clit with relentless precision, alternating between broad strokes and focused flicks. His hands grip my thighs, holding me open, keeping me pinned as I writhe beneath him.
The pleasure is overwhelming.
Too much.
Not enough.
I need—
"Inside," I gasp. "I need—"
He slides two fingers inside me.
The stretch is immediate. Intense.
I'm tight—so tight I can feel every ridge on his fingers as he pushes deeper.
"You are so small," he says, his voice rough. "So tight. I do not know if—"
"Don't you dare stop."
He curls his fingers, finding the spot that makes my entire body jerk.
And then hedestroysme.
His tongue on my clit. His fingers inside me. The heat. The pressure. The overwhelming sensation of being completely claimed.
I come so hard I see stars.
My pussy clenches around his fingers, my walls fluttering with the force of my orgasm. My thighs clamp around his head. My hands tighten in his hair.
And he doesn't stop.
He works me through it, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure until I collapse back onto the furs, panting and trembling.
He pulls his fingers out slowly, and I watch—dazed and breathless—as he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean.
