I manage, “Yes,” though it comes out as a gasp.
“Good. You’re perfect.”
He dips his head and kisses the swell of my breast, the curve of it, then the other, all with infuriating patience. The stubble of his jaw scrapes my skin, leaving a trail of tingling rawness. His tongue flicks my nipple and I arch, pressing against him, desperate for more.
I hear the other men’s breathing now, and look up. Oberon has unbuttoned his pants, cock thick in his fist, and he strokes himself with slow, deliberate movements, never breaking eye contact. Ashton is serious for once, his hand is down his pants, the motion unmistakable. Sylvian’s lips are parted, and I can see the tip of his tongue as he watches, rapt.
The attention makes me lightheaded. I didn’t think I’d want to be watched, but the way they look at me, hungry, reverent, it only makes me want Cassius more. I open my legs for him, not even thinking about it. Just needing.
He moves his mouth down my torso, peppering kisses along my ribs, my belly. His hair brushes my skin, ticklish and soft. He slides the nightgown up, exposing my thighs. His hands linger there, thumbs stroking the inside, up and up, until I’m shuddering.
He glances up at me, and his gaze is darker now, heavy with want.
“You’re nervous,” he says.
“A little.”
“You don’t need to be. I’m going to take care of you, Alette. I promise.”
He hooks a finger under the hem of my nightgown and tugs it higher, until I’m bare to the waist. I can feel the wetness between my thighs, slick against the cool air. He runs his hand up my leg, starting at the knee, massaging the muscle, then higher, until his palm is pressed against the inside of my thigh.
I think he’ll touch me right away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he kisses me again, mouth on mine, and slips his fingers up and down my thigh, teasing me until I can barely breathe. His tongue is warm, and when it tangles with mine I feel it all the way to my toes.
I rock my hips, desperate for friction, and he smiles against my mouth.
“Greedy,” he says, not unkindly.
He slides his hand up, brushes the barest tip of a finger against my outer lips, and I nearly come apart. He takes his time, tracing the shape of me, finding every place that makes me gasp. His fingers are slender, graceful, but strong. When he finally pushes one inside, I grab his wrist, shocked at the heat of it.
He starts slow, curling and uncurling, coaxing me open. Every movement is deliberate, measured, and every time I moan the others echo it, their voices a chorus. Oberon curses softly. Ashton says, “Fuck, Cass, let her come,” his voice ragged.
Cassius ignores them. He focuses on me, reading every twitch of my body, every tiny sound. He presses a thumb to my clit and moves it in gentle circles, and that’s enough. Tingles spread through my body, and I feel myself getting wetter and wetter.
His movements get faster, and I’m struggling to catch my breath. Struggling to keep my heart from beating out of my chest. My toes curl. My head falls back… and I’m undone. The orgasm is sudden, overwhelming, like a cresting wave. I cry out, not caring who hears, not able to contain the noise, my whole body alive with pleasure.
Everything goes white at the edges. Until the world slowly starts coming back into focus.
He holds me through it, fingers never leaving me, just slowing as I shudder and twitch. When I finally catch my breath, he withdraws, wiping his hand delicately on the sheet. He kisses me again, and I just want to kiss him forever.
“You’re amazing,” he says. “So responsive. You feel everything.”
“I’ve never—” I start, but he hushes me with another kiss.
“I know. That’s why I wanted to go first. I wanted to be the one to show you how good it can be.”
The others are watching, panting, and when I look at Oberon, he gives me a single, sharp nod. Like that’s exactly the reason he allowed another man to touch me.
Cassius kneels in front of me on the floor, parts my knees, and leans in. I start to protest, but he gives me a look that says,trust me. So, I do.
He licks a slow stripe up my pussy, and I collapse back onto the bed, grabbing fistfuls of sheets. His tongue is warm at first, then gets hotter, lapping at me with more skill than I thought possible. My nerves still feel so sensitive, so alive, that everything he does just feels so damn good I can barely containmyself. Every lick of his tongue is deliberate, every pause an invitation to beg.
I do, helplessly, “please, please,” until he hums against my clit and I scream, back arching.
He keeps going, tongue flicking and stroking, until I come again, this time so hard my legs lock around his head. Pulling him closer even though some part of me is feeling too much. Enjoying too much. I try to push him away. He shifts back and grins, lips shiny.
He stands, face flushed, and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.
“Ready for more?” he asks, a teasing edge to his voice.
