Page 69 of Damsel in Disguise

Once I’m satisfied with the weight of him, the fullness, my mouth parts. I lean over to take him in.

Never in my wildest dreams have I ever thought of living this moment.

The first press of his against my tongue makes my breath hitch. Smooth. Velvety. Warm in a strangely intoxicating way.

That faint, pulsing vein of his shaft over my tongue sends shivers straight to my pussy. Before I can stop it, a soft moan slips out—too honest, too revealing.

I still. Damn it. I force it down immediately, steadying myself. I’m not here for that.

I’m not here to let him use my mouth.

I’m here to erase her.

So I focus. My tongue thoroughly moves over him, lapping along every inch with a desperate kind of precision.

I manipulate my tongue to taste, trace, and clean like I can strip away every last touch of his wife, even though I know he’s already washed himself.

It’s not enough.

It will never be enough.

I want to replace her. Replace every memory his body holds of her with me.

If I could, I’d be the one beneath him—wrapped around him, letting him fuck me instead, taking everything she gets without deserving it.

Since I can’t yet, I’ll do whatever I can till I can—I’d lick him clean after every time he fucks his wife.

My pussy throbs painfully to replace my mouth with it. I try to rub my fingers of my free hand, trying to soothe some of the ache, but it only worsens it. So I remove my hand altogether and clamp my thighs shut.

Then I reach upward, pressing my palm flat against his chest, seeking his heartbeat. I flatten my palm right at the center, feeling it immediately—too fast, too loud. His breathing isn’t steady either. It’s now uneven, fractured in a way that shouldn’t belong to sleep.

It makes my lips curl faintly around him. He’s not awake, but his body knows and is accepting this forbidden pleasure.

I’m almost surprised he hasn’t caught me yet—hasn’t woken to this, to me licking him, to the sin I’m committing inches away from his consciousness.

In the middle of my tongue innocently licking off his dick from balls to tip, his body jerks.

There’s no warning. Within moments, my mouth fills with warm, thick, and salty liquid.

My eyes widen in the darkness as realization crashes through me—he’s coming in my mouth.

A soft, needy sound escapes me, one that I can’t swallow. I relax, taking him deeper, pushing him further into my mouth, letting him spill down my throat. I swallow every pulse, every drop like a sacred offering.

Some of it slips—spilling past my lips, trailing down the corners of my mouth.

I hate that. I hate losing a drop.

I chase it instinctively, tightening around him in a desperate and greedy attempt to reclaim what’s already been wasted.

Slowly, his body settles.

His heartbeat evens out beneath my palm. His breathing smooths, returning to obliviousness—as if this was nothing more than a wet dream conjured by his own mind.

The only evidence left is the semi-erect weight in my hand and the mess I’ve made of my face. Well, let’s not ignore the painful ache in my pussy from the greed of being full of him.

Just as cautious as I was when it started, I adjust him back like nothing ever happened. Like I was never here to begin with.

I slip out from under the blanket, feeling cool air brushing against my damp lips and heated body. I bend over and press my lips on the left side of his chest.