She slows, indulges, sweeps her tongue along my lips and up my jaw, lets my breathing settle out.
The hand braced above me lowers, and her claws grazedown the side of my face, my throat, dropping to the top button of my shirt.
I expect her to tear it away, but she undoes each button with practiced ease. The pointed tips of her nails brush against my skin, sending shivers down my spine.
She’s going so slowly.
My eyes flutter open. The devious look on her face sends a violent shudder through me.
“Mor,” I complain.
“Shut up and let me play with my food,” she commands, and I nearly pass out.
God, when she hits my stomach, it’s torture. Every little brush of her fingers and claws sends a jolt of sensation right to my cock, where it throbs against her.
She can feel it. The wicked smile on her lips deepens with every throb.
I don’t complain.
There’s nothing sweeter than suffering for Morgan.
She gets down to the lower buttons, then gives a forceful tug to untuck my shirt, and I yelp as the fabric drags against my cock.
Morgan gives a soft, sadistic laugh as she unfastens the last few buttons, letting my shirt hang open
Her fingers trace the planes of my chest and my stomach, slow and indulgent, like she’s committing every shape to memory.
She gently lowers me to my feet, giving me a moment to steady myself. I lean heavily against the wall.
A claw hooks under my waistband, starting by my hip.
My breath catches.
Morgan pulls her claw slowly—agonizingly slowly—around to the front, then she pauses just behind the button of my suit pants.
I shake with need and anticipation, silently begging.
The claws of Morgan’s other hand land against my cock, tracing the shape through the fabric, each point sending sparks of pleasure through my body as I yelp.
“I love that sound,” Morgan croons, pinching the head of my cock through the fabric.
I moan lowly, desperately.
“Fuck, you made a wet little mess,” she hisses.
Both of her hands meet at the button of my suit pants, and she slowly undoes it, then peels the fabric away from my hips.
My cock twitches, throbbing against my briefs.
Her claws drift behind the elastic waistband before finally pulling my briefs down. I shiver as the cold air hits my damp cock, followed by Morgan’s hot breath as she crouches.
“Let’s see how you taste,” she croons, and with no warning, my cock is deep in her mouth.
“Fuck!” I almost fall over at the shock and the pleasure. Her mouth is so hot, her throat tight, her tongue pressing hard, sliding up my length.
I may technically be standing over her, but I’m utterly at Morgan’s mercy as she looks up at me, eyes predatory. She works her tongue over my cock as if licking her claws clean after a kill.
And she is, isn’t she? She’s taking what’s hers.
