"Mal." Her breath is heavy with desire.
It's intoxicating, how much she needs me. How much she's giving herself to me.
Lacey actually fucking knows me. Not all of me. Not even close.
But enough. Enough that I know she's giving herself to me and not to some hot stranger or some idea she has in her head about Malcolm Strong.
I toy with her nipples until she's bucking against me.
Slowly, I work my way down her stomach. I lap up every drop of champagne above her belly button.
Every drop below it.
My fingers curl around her inner thighs.
With one hard gesture, I pin her knees to the bed.
I drag my lips up her inner thigh until she's squirming hard enough to fight my grip.
Damn, she smells good.
She tastes better.
Lacey groans as I lick her clit with long, slow strokes. She's already close.
I tease her clit with short flicks of my tongue. Then harder. Faster.
She takes her hand from the bed and tugs at my hair.
Her hips buck against my face.
There, that's exactly what she needs.
She tugs at my hair as I lick her. Her legs fight my hands. Even when I dig my nails into her soft flesh, she presses her thighs against my fingers.
The mix of pain and pleasure only makes her groan louder.
It only makes her move faster.
Harder.
"Mal." She groans. She pants. She tugs at my hair. She takes her other hand and rakes her nails across my shoulder blades hard enough to draw blood. "Fuck…"
I watch the pleasure spread over her face, then I plant my head between her legs and I lick her through her orgasm.
I can feel her come in the way she pins her thighs to my ears. Her groans get deeper. Breathier.
Once she's come down, she lets her thighs fall back onto the bed.
Satisfaction spreads over her expression. But when she looks up at me, there's something else in her brown eyes.
She wants more.
She wants me.
Her voice is soft. "You said some of the champagne is for me."
I nod.