But Mr. Childs isn’t a guy that can be rushed.
“Champagne,” he commanded.
What? What was I supposed to do? But with trembling fingers, I handed him the flute, every nerve waiting with anticipation.
“Come here, sweetheart,” he beckoned. I moved closer to him, the space between us disappearing.
“Closer,” he rasped again. And this time, I moved even closer, so that my nude, lush form was merely inches from that big body seated in the white leather chair.
The dark man smiled at me then.
“I can smell your cunt,” he rasped. “It’s dying for dick. But sweetheart, I’m gonna make you feel good another way. You think you can handle it? You think this curvy bod can take what I’m about to give?”
Wordlessly, I nodded, every nerve quivering, juice streaming down my thighs now.
“Yes, Mr. Childs,” I whispered obediently. “Yes, I’ll try.”
“Good,” he ground out. “Because I want to suckle this sweet, meaty cunt flavored with champagne.”
And dipping his fingers into the flute, he lifted them, dripping with golden fizz. And then slowly, he leaned forwards to paint the champagne over my clit, stroking my throbbing nub and making circles around the pleasure point.”
“Oh!” I gasped, knees going weak. My hands gripped the back of his chair to stay upright. “Oh god!”
“That’s it,” Mr. Childs rasped, his eyes never leaving my juicing pussy. “That’s it sweetheart.”
And he dipped his finger in again, this time painting the golden liquid all over my folds. He stroked my outer labia, getting them soaking, before using two fingers to pull my lips apart, showing the gleaming ruby red within.
“So beautiful,” he breathed approvingly. “You’re sopping wet baby.”
Because of course I was. I was standing before a gorgeous billionaire, letting him play with my cunt. Not only that, but he was painting my private parts with champagne, smoothing fizzy all over my sensitive lips, and now, even into my interior.
“Oh,” I moaned, throwing my head back, white knuckles gripping the leather seat tighter. “Oh god, I’m gonna come.”
“Not yet,” he rasped. “Because we’re not even halfway there yet.”
And the man leaned forward then, placing his tongue against my sensitive spot. Slyly, those lips nibbled at my clit, jolts of pleasure going straight from pussy to spine, making me stiffen slightly.
“Oh!” came my helpless mewl. “Oh oh!”
“That’s right,” Mr. Childs murmured from between my folds. “I’m gonna eat this all up.”
And with that, he began in earnest. The alpha suckled my clit before biting at it, and then running circles around the stiff nub. And then he held my folds open and traced every sensitive crevice, every beautiful crease of my creaming pussy.
“Oh!” I shrieked this time. “Oh god!”
And it was so good that I almost fainted. But Mr. Childs gave no quarter. Because he kept kissing and licking and slurping, tasting my insides as female cream mixed with the champagne covering his mouth.
“Tastes good,” he muttered into my pussy. “Tastes real good.”
I thought I’d burst at that very moment. But then the man lifted his dark head, blue eyes gleaming.
“You know what would make this taste even better?”
I couldn’t’ answer, my breath coming in labored pants. He merely smiled again, chin slick with my wetness.
“Your puss would taste even better if there was some cum in the mix. Champagne and cum. You think you can handle that?”
And wordlessly, I’d stared at him, the heaving of my breasts my only answer. Because was this really going to happen? How would it work?