One swipe of my tongue, and she cries out. Two and she’s pushing up onto her toes, the tension in her body. My third swipe is a teasing caress to her inner thigh that makes her mewl a protest.
‘I can’t,’ she protests, even as she begins canting her hips, the threads of her building orgasm tied so tightly to the other, her mind and body at war.
‘Yes, you can. There can be no such thing as too much pleasure.’
‘There can be if it kills you,’ she whimpers. But then she complains no more.
The sounds of our joint pleasure begin to fill the darkened room; wet sucking, slick fingers fucking, my whispers of encouragement and growls of pleasure and those heady cries of hers that drive me fucking wild.
She undulates, chasing my touch as my hand slip away as I stand. The mirror was for her benefit—for her to see herself as I see her—but I find I can’t get close enough for satisfaction. I can’t feel enough, taste enough, see enough of her right now.
Her gaze is darkly dilated, her heavy lids widening as I feed those glistening fingers into her mouth. But she makes no protest, instead lapping and sucking the digits with the kind of filthy kind reverence that makes my cock ache.
I spin her to face me, pressing my lips against hers. The taste of her arousal from her own mouth is a turn-on like nothing else. She’s like a drug, an obsession, and I’m afraid I’ll never have enough. With the realisation, the moment turns fierce, my desperation to own and possess her growing as I push my tongue into her mouth. My cock grows harder at the way she accepts it. Sucks on it. Entwines it with her own. The way she moans as I find her clit, slippery and swollen, and her head falls back along with her moan.
I press her nakedness against the cool mirror, her gaze falling over my tattoos, her fingers teasing the trail of hair that dips into my open pants.
‘Your tongue is diabolical and your whispers divine.’ Her husky words echo under my lips as I kiss her again, working lips down her neck before using my teeth to pull her scarf loose.
‘What about my cock?’ I ask, unravelling the silk from her neck and wrapping it around my fist.
She tilts her head, mischief making her eyes glisten. ‘I don’t know if I remember. Maybe you should remind me—’
I cut off her words with a slow, sensual kiss, grinding my hips against her nakedness as I press my hands to the mirror on either side of her head.
‘Is it coming back to you yet?’
‘I think I need to take a quick peek. Just to be sure.’ Her hands reach for my pants when I cover them with my own.
‘Be sure of what, ma Rose?’
‘Be sure it’s as pretty as I remember.’
‘You can’t call my cock pretty, not without there being consequences.’ This woman. Just her. I don’t care what follows. I care for nothing right now but having her.
‘Oh, no,’ she purrs. ‘However can I make it up to you?’
Before I can say another word, she drops to her knees, lifting me free from the confines of my underwear. She lowers her gaze demurely, her fingers warm on my scalding skin. Her nails are painted pink, and her hands small and dainty. I can’t help but be struck by the contrast between her softness and my rigid cock, the veins bulging ruddily.
I gather the mass of dark waves to better see, hissing out a breath as the soft brush of her hair draws my abs tight. My body bowing forward as she places a tender kiss to my crown, my knees almost going out from under me as she then inhales me almost to the back of her throat.
‘Fuck . . .’
‘You’re so hot and hard,’ she whispers, her eyes almost coy as they flick up to me. But coy is a ruse, coy is a deception, as her tongue flicks out, tonguing my head, my slit, licking my aching length, her attentions blowing my mind.
‘La langue est diabolique.’ I use her earlier words against her, our tongue is diabolical, the delivery a rush of air. It’s a praise that seems to please her, judging by the way she begins to work me faster. Her hand is firm at the root of my cock as she twists and jacks, her mouth alternating between tight and messy until my mind is blank of all thoughts but one.
‘Suce-moi,’ I moan, my words hoarse, my eyes glued to the delicious slide of her lips. My pulse pounds, and my thighs tremble as she moans the most encouraging sounds, the vibrations like a drug hitting my veins.
‘Tu vas me faire jouir. You’re going to make me come.’