“Fuck, Lizzie,” Darcy breathes against my quivering sex. “You have the sweetest little cunt I’ve ever tasted.”
“Oh, honey,” I breathe back, my chest heaving. “That was just a sample. Now that you’ve had dessert first...”
“How about the main course?” Darcy finishes.
I yelp as his teeth sink into the meat of my ass. Laughing, I turn around to playfully slap him for it. But Darcy is too fast for me; he catches my hand before it finds his cheek.
“Hmm. No? Then maybe we’ll have an apéritif.”
Darcy picks me up effortlessly and sits me down on the kitchen island. The marble countertop should be cold beneath my ass, but my whole body is so freezing that it’s pleasantly warm.
I watch as Darcy retrieves the Sav Blanc from where he abandoned it near the stove. He runs the lip of the bottle tantalizingly beneath my nose, teasing me with its scent.
It’s faintly grassy in a way that reminds me of summer. Fresh cut lawns. The great outdoors after a much-needed rain. There’s something fruity, almost tropical about it, too.
It smells fantastic. When Darcy pulls it away, I lean forward along with it.
“We’ll make a lush of you yet, Lizzie,” Darcy says.
I gasp as he slips two fingers into my pussy and lowers his mouth to the sensitive peak of my right breast.
“Mm,” he moans, sucking my nipple into his mouth and releasing it with a satisfying pop! “Your tits are so cold, Lizzie… but your cunt is burning up for me.”
Darcy places a heavy kiss on my lips before staring at me with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“Tilt your head back and open your mouth,” he says.
As his fingers twitch inside my pussy in a delicious come-hither motion, I do exactly that. Eagerly. With another orgasm just on the horizon, I’m totally prepared to do whatever Darcy says, no matter what sinister things he has planned for me.
The more sinister, the better, baby.
“Taste,” Darcy whispers, bringing the bottle of wine to my lips. He raises the neck of the bottle so he can trickle the wine onto my tongue, bit by bit. I lap it up greedily, but not fast enough. While the sweet, light, dry flavors coat my tongue, the overflow bubbles up over my lower lip and spills down my chin. It rivers down my neck and between my breasts, where Darcy’s mouth is ready to lick and kiss and slurp it all up. Meanwhile, Darcy’s fingers are fucking me faster and faster, until I’m gripping the countertop with blind need.
The wine. Darcy’s mouth. His fingers. My cunt.
I’m on the precipice of orgasm again, and I’m about to fall right over the edge when Darcy slams the wine down on the counter next to me.
Unzips his pants.
And shoves his mass
ive hard-on into me.
Immediately, I come. I come so hard, I feel fucking drunk.
Not on the wine—I’m not a fucking lightweight, okay?
I’m drunk on him. Will Darcy. Mr. Big.
Billionaire. Playboy. Proud owner of the huge, demanding cock that’s currently rocking my fucking world.
“Darcy!” I moan in that high-pitched little whine that you just can’t fake.
“That’s it, Lizzie,” Darcy says. He’s pretty close to moaning himself. “Come for me. Come for me, you little slut.”
And when Darcy calls me a slut, I am one. I so am. My hips thrust against his, so our bodies are moving together in perfect, desperate rhythm. His hand wraps around my throat, squeezing gently, then so hard I nearly come for him all over again.
My hands are tangled in his hair, stroking the silken darkness of his thick waves.