I spend time on her—more time than I ever have.
I need to savor this. My fingers trace the line of her collarbone, down the center of her chest, over the flat plane of her stomach. She trembles under my touch, her breath coming in shallow, ragged pulls.
“Relax,zayka,” I murmur, my voice a low command. She tries to obey, but her muscles are taut wires of anticipation. I lean down, my lips finding the hollow of her throat. I kiss the pulse point there, feel her heartbeat hammering against my mouth. It’s a frantic rhythm—the same rhythm that pounds in my own chest.
I need to taste more.
I shift lower, my mouth finding the swell of her breast. I lick, a slow, broad stroke that makes her arch off the bed. Her nipple is already a hard, dark peak, begging for attention. I give it everything. I take it into my mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder, rolling the tight bud with my tongue. She cries out, her hands fisting in the sheets beside her head.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers, her eyes closed, her face a mask of pure concentration.
I won’t.
My hand slides down her body, over the curve of her hip, along the outer line of her thigh. I feel the goosebumps rising on her skin as I move. My fingers reach the inner warmth of her thigh, and she instinctively parts her legs wider for me. A silent, beautiful invitation.
I look at her then, my gaze holding hers. “Watch me,” I say.
She opens her eyes, her pupils dilated, her focus entirely on my face. I let her see the raw hunger in my expression. Then I move my hand to her center.
My fingers don’t plunge inside immediately. They explore. They trace the outer folds, feeling her heat, her dampness, how slick she already is for me. My thumb presses against her clit, a firm, circular motion that makes her hips jerk off the bed.
“God,” she breathes, her head falling back again.
I smile, a predatory, satisfied smile. Then I lower my head.
I replace my thumb with my tongue.
I lick her, a slow, deliberate stroke from bottom to top. The taste of her is intoxicating—clean, salty, uniquely hers. Her whole body stiffens, a sharp intake of breath catching in her throat. I do it again, slower, dragging the flat of my tongue over her most sensitive nerve. Her hands find my hair, not pushing me away but gripping, holding me there.
I use my mouth like a weapon of pleasure. I suck gently on her clit, feeling it swell under my attention. I tease with the tip ofmy tongue, flicking rapidly, then slowing to a maddening, lazy pace. She starts to moan, a continuous, low sound that vibrates through her body and into mine.
When her thighs begin to shake around my head, I introduce my fingers.
One finger, slick with her own moisture, slides into her warmth. She is tight but welcoming. The feeling of her inner muscles clutching around my finger is almost too much. I move it slowly, in and out, matching the rhythm of my tongue on her clit.
Her moans turn into gasps. “More…please…”
I add a second finger. The stretch is exquisite. I curl my fingers inside her, searching for the spot that will make her scream. I know her body. I remember. When I find it, a textured ridge, I press against it with a steady pressure.
Her reaction is instantaneous. Her back arches off the bed so violently I have to brace my free hand on her hip to keep her from moving away.
“There!”she cries out, the word a fractured plea.
I keep my fingers there, pressing, rubbing in a slow, relentless circle.
My mouth continues its work, sucking and licking in tandem with the internal pressure. Her breaths become short, frantic pants. She starts to babble, words without meaning, my name mixed with curses and pleas. The scent of her arousal fills the air, thick and primal.
Her hands in my hair tighten, pulling almost painfully. I welcome it. I want her marks on me.
Her climax builds like a storm. I feel it in the tightening of her inner walls around my fingers, in the frantic pulsing of her clit against my tongue, in the way her entire body tenses, coiling like a spring. I don’t relent. I increase the pace of my fingers, driving them deeper. I suck harder on her clit, drawing it into my mouth.
“Razvan, I can’t… I’m going to…”
“Let it happen,” I growl against her skin, my voice muffled by her flesh.“Give it to me.”
She breaks.
The orgasm crashes over her with a force that shakes the bed. She screams, a raw, shattered sound that echoes in the room. Her body convulses, her thighs clamping around my head, her internal muscles gripping my fingers in a series of frantic, rhythmic pulses. I keep my mouth on her, my fingers inside her, riding the wave of her pleasure until it subsides into trembles and soft, exhausted sighs.
