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Watching every bite pass through her lips was uniquely satisfying, and it was made even more so by every soft sound of pleasure that followed. I’d kept the portions small so we wouldn’t be overfull, and there was plenty to eat later if she was still hungry.
When I finally cleared off the table, discreetly washed my hands, and rinsed out my mouth in preparation, Luna sat watching me expectantly. I took the opportunity to capture her lips, letting my fingertips trace over the expanse of lace and skin she had offered me. She spread her thighs instantly, her fingers curling into my hair, little whimpers urging me to get on with things.
She squeaked when I scooped her straight up and set her butt on the table, taking my place at the head of the table so I could bend down and feast. Luna’s moan filled the space, echoing off the cavernous ceilings. The sweet tartness of her on my tongue was as delicious as the cake had been.
Her nails dug into my scalp, and I pushed her back until she was sprawled across the mahogany, her head haloed by the glowing lights. She hung on to the edges of the table, rocking her hips against my mouth, shamelessly serenading me with all of her moans, groans, and whimpers.
I teased her until she was shaking and whining, hips bucking helplessly like they could convince me to finish her off.
“Be patient. I’m trying to let you digest before I rearrange those insides.”
My statement kicked off a giggling fit, at least until I replaced my mouth with my fingers, tucking two of them into her. The feel of her squeezing me never got old and only made me more eager to undo her.
“You can’t—you can’t just tease me all night.” She gasped as my fingers flexed, her back arching off the table.
“I’m pretty sure I can. At least a few hours.”
Luna whined beautifully, every bit of her shaking. “Don’t be mean. I’m a delicate flower.”
“You’re not,” I replied, keeping the rhythm of my fingers steady. “You’re as beautiful as a flower, but delicate is not one of the words I would ever use to describe you.”
“How would you—? Fuck.”
Her mango lemonade scent was saturated with sweetness, a lure to draw me in.
“How would I describe you?”
Luna nodded.
“Fierce,” I said. “Brave, loyal, brilliant, stubborn as hell.” I punctuated each word with a curl of my fingers. Every so often I would give her clit a second of attention just to feel the surprised clench around my fingers.
“I don’t feel brave,” she said softly.
I leaned over her, bracing one hand next to her head, not changing what I was doing so I could keep her revved up. “How many things do you do on a regular basis that scare the shit out of you? You face down bullies, you drop twenty feet out of the air on your silks, you perform on stage, and you took a chance on me. Don’t you dare tell me you’re not brave.”
She stared up at me, her blue eyes aglow with emotion. Instead of speaking, she grabbed my head and pulled me down, kissing me like I had come back from the war. “Luca, please, I need you.”
The words barely made it out between the ravenous kisses and I set about struggling to get my pants off in this position. Luna refused to relinquish an inch, but I worked the fabric down, freed myself, and pressed myself into the willing warmth of her body.
“Fuck, Luna.” The heat of her seared through me. She clung desperately to me, fingers tucked into my hair, nails digging into my skin, ankles crossed behind my back, her lips holding mine captive. I drank down the sounds of her desire, focusing on the rhythms her body demanded. Heat and pleasure lit up like embers, spreading their voracious tendrils through my limbs.
I nearly leapt out of my skin when she shifted, grabbing two handfuls of my ass cheeks, the bite of her nails drawing me out of the haze.
“Don’t stop,” she ordered.
I couldn’t have even if I’d wanted to. She used those nails to guide me at the exact speed and angle she craved, and I watched her eyes glaze over, felt the fluttering squeezes of her cunt around me as she burst in a flood of perfume, my name on her tongue.
A few more thrusts was all it took for me to follow her over the edge. Her muscles were still twitching when I buried myself deep, spilling inside her as she dragged my mouth back to hers.
She softened slowly as we both recovered, her touches turning gentle, and her breathing evening out. “The table has been christened.”
I laughed against her skin. “I vote we christen a couple other surfaces before the night is over.”
“Yes, please.”
I was loath to depart the warmth of her, but I wanted to fulfill one of her requests before we lost the languid energy of the moment. I returned with a bowl of the leftover whipped cream from the fridge.
She watched me with mischief in her eyes.
