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“Yes,” Mari breathed, arching desperately for more contact, more touch. More, more, more.
I ran my hand along her thigh, teasing while I could. “I’m going to slip my fingers into that sweet cunt until you’re dripping, then I’m going to lick you clean. You’re going to come so much, you’ll be too tired to hold yourself up.”
She bit her lip. “Keep going.”
“When I’m through with you, you’ll be too blissed out to care that you’re covered in come.” Carefully stripping off her shirt, I groaned at the matching bra that was all straps and lace. I couldn’t stop myself from giving one nipple a long lick, and Mari shuddered at the contact. She muttered under her breath, and I had to lean close to hear.
Please, please, please.
Mari needed release more than she needed to play, so teasing was out. Slipping my hand between her thighs, I palmed her pussy, grinding the heel of it against her clit. Her cry was fucking perfection. “First, you’re going to come on my hand like this.”
Her body jerked as I worked her over. My hand covered her whole pussy while I rested my fingers at her slick entrance as a reminder for us both. Mari was mine. Now and always.
“You’re so wet already,” I whispered into her shoulder, crazed at the taste of her skin on my lips. My hips rolled against hers each time my palm rubbed her clit.
It was a tease, a taunt, a mimicry of what fucking her would be like, but I was desperate to come already. To paint her with my come and claim her as mine. It wouldn’t take much, a shift here, a condom there, and I could come inside the woman I loved. It wasn’t just the urge to fuck her, but the need for connection that had me panting against her. I wanted it so bad my bones hurt.
Keep it together, asshole. This isn’t about you.
Pulling back, I adjusted so I could finally slide my fingers inside her. Perfect pink lips dropped open on a sigh, and I bit back a curse. She was so wet, so warm. I couldn’t look away from the sight of my hand between her slick thighs, her body twisting and rolling to meet me as I fucked her with thick fingers. Her throaty cries as she flushed so perfectly under my touch. It was almost too much.
Focus. I watched the light sheen of sweat appear on her skin, dipping to lick it off. I kept her bra on, working her nipples through the lace with a warm tongue and cool breaths. When I nipped the points, rolling my tongue across them while I kept a firm grip with my teeth, she jolted so hard she shoved my hand deeper, and we both swore.
All I could see, smell, hear, taste was Mari, and I never wanted it to end.
Her every move told me she was wound too tight, and the way she clenched around my fingers said she was close. Another bite across her breast and a long suck of her nipple, and she was gone.
“God, yes.” Mari gripped my wrist, holding on for dear life as she rode out the pleasure. Only when she was pliant and panting below me did I lift myself away. I was hard enough for a light breeze to hurt, and it was a Herculean feat to leave my cock in my pants when all I wanted was to slide home inside her. After a painful adjustment of my dick, I shifted her farther up the bed so I could lie down.
With a palm on either thigh, I spread her out and groaned at the sight of her pussy. Wet and sweet and ripe enough to eat, and I was starving. “Look at you, spread out and dripping on my sheets. You’re aching for it, aren’t you, my sweet little mariposa?”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. One wrong word and all the looseness from her first orgasm was gone.
Arching an eyebrow, I massaged my fingers into her suddenly tense thighs. “Why not?”
“I’m not soft and sweet anymore, Dominic.”
“Not always,” I agreed. “That doesn’t mean it’s the wrong name.”
“What does that mean?”
How could I explain this to her? How could I put into words what I’d only just realized?
Needing to be closer, I lay down between her legs and rested my head against her thigh, close enough to let my words drift over her pussy without actually touching it. Just the smell of her was enough to make me high, and just like I thought, the barest hint of something was enough to start her writhing again.
“Butterflies are beautiful and noble. They make the world brighter with their presence. Butterfly knives are sharp and deadly. It takes practice to wield them correctly without hurting yourself. You’re all of those things. Cunning to your enemies and sweet to the people you love. It’s an apt description.”
“That’s not why you gave me the nickname, and you know it.”
I shrugged, dragging my tongue through the heat of her when the urge to have her got to be too much. Mari’s taste exploded on my tongue, and I groaned against her clit, making her moan. “God, you taste good.”
When I’d lived in Chicago, I’d dreamed of Mari every night. At first, they were memories, reminders of who I’d left behind. As the years passed, it was living out my fantasies like she was with me. Sex on the balcony of my penthouse, sneaking off at parties, fucking her in a room full of strangers. No matter who I went to bed with, Mari was always there when I closed my eyes, but in all those years, I never once remembered how she tasted. It was as if the memory was snatched from my brain the second I walked away.
Now I knew I’d been missing out.
Mari tasted like sin and sweetness. Promise and poison. She tasted like home and heaven and a death I’d welcome with a smile. Reacclimating myself to every curve of her pussy, every single centimeter, was a wish I’d never thought would come true. She tasted like my future, and I wanted to drink her down until I was too full to move and she was too sated to remember why we weren’t together.
“Reasons change, mariposa. Just like people do.”
