Liar Liar

The answer that echoes through my head is that I don’t. But it doesn’t stop me from taking her. From tasting her. From sampling the very essence of her from her own delectably kiss-swollen lips. The warm air in the bathroom swirls around us as I feed my fingers into her mouth, her tongue flicking, her lips devouring.

I turn her as she whispers my name, but I can’t stop kissing her, the sound like honey on her tongue. Or maybe that’s the taste of her. ‘Take me to bed, Remy. Make love to me.’

As she takes my hand, I know I’d follow her anywhere.

Moonlight spills across the floor of the darkened bedroom, slicing across the room and highlighting the hypnotic sway of her hips and a heart-shaped ass just begging to be squeezed. The cicada song filters through the window; a bird calls, another answers as I turn at the edge of the mattress, tipping her chin. My hand falls oh-so naturally to the curve of her hips as I close the distance between us, bringing my mouth to hers.

‘You are so, so very beautiful,’ I whisper as my thumb brushes the curve of her waist. A press of lips, a glide of my tongue, a whispered word, as I work my way down the side of her neck until she melts.

I lower myself to the bed, pulling her into the space between my splayed knees. Kiss her collarbone and the rise and fall of her breasts before taking them in my hands to lavish them with attention. The brush of my thumbs, a soft pinch. The caress from the tip of my tongue and she’s leaning towards me like a flower seeking the sun.

‘Please, don’t stop.’

I couldn’t, not even if I wanted to. Not as her hands clasp my shoulders, her eyes glistening yet unfocussed as her sweet breath brushes my cheek.

We would make such beautiful babies. The thought comes unbidden as my hand sweeps over her stomach. Everything stills—the thought, my hand as it slips between her legs—as I attempt to process this.

I find it’s . . . not wholly unwelcome.

Filling her. Fucking her. Her body ripe with our child.

Something primal washes over me, a surge of need as old as time. I wrap my hands around her thighs, bringing her heat over me, above me, causing her to suck in a sharp breath.

‘Is this okay?’ Though I ask, I know the answer anyway. It’s in that gasp and the way her body tilts to meet me as we work together to centre ourselves on the bed. My hands at her hips, my cock is poised at her entrance, swollen and thick. ‘I’m yours, Rose. Yours to love.’

Her reaction is in the visceral. Her tremble, the languid vowel sound she makes as she rises above me on her knees. My chest tightens, pleasure spiralling in the instant our bodies meet as she rocks against me, pressing her wetness along my length. The sensation is so sublime, this slow, teasing ride of delight, trapped between her pussy and her hand. It’s the kind of torture that depletes brain cells as a volley of nonsensical words burst from my chest.

‘You and your sexy French mouth,’ she whispers, dipping to press her mouth to mine as the tight buds of her nipples brush my chest. ‘Your mouth does things to me.’

‘My mouth would like to do things to you,’ I counter, propping myself up against the mattress on my elbows. ‘Why don’t you come sit on my face, and I’ll show you exactly what kinds of things.’ It takes her a moment for my words to sink in. I know the exact instant they do because I feel her desire and her indecision fluttering around me. ‘Tue es délicieux. You’re delicious. And I’ll take you however I can get you.’ I buck up into her, gently and first, then much less so, her resultant moan a little ragged around the edges. ‘Jouis sur mon visage, Rose,’ I purr, tapping my forefinger to my chin.

‘I’m not asking you to translate.’ I hear the husky sound of her response, her wilful denial. Before I can translate, before I can invite her to come on my face, the image of Venus rises above me, hands sliding into her hair.

I forget everything.

The flare of her hips is an enchantment.

The sway of her breasts a bewitchment.

‘I need you inside me, Remy.’ Pleasure swirls as she wraps my base, my eyes almost glued to her body accepting mine. To where she takes my cock inch by slow inch as our joint moans sound in the air. She’s so hot and tight. The angle so much more this way. And the view . . .

If I last more than a few minutes, it will be a miracle.

‘Tu me prends si bien,’ I whisper again and again. ‘You take me so well.’ Her hands fall to my shoulders, our pace punctuated by long, slow kisses. Moonlight slides through the shutters, dappling her with light and shade like the perfect symbol for my love for her. Moans layer, her tight breaths over my tortured rasps, our eyes watching, our fingers touching, our hearts brimming full.