She hums against me in a way that does not help.
She takes me deeper, her small hand wrapping around the base of my shaft, pumping up and down while her mouth works over me. She sets a rhythm and my hips roll into it without my permission. Her name comes out of my lips, my voice rough and husky. She glances up again, satisfied as a cat, and does something with her tongue that almost sends me over the edge entirely.
I close my hand in her hair, stopping her.
"I was getting to the good part," she says.
"Come here." It comes out rough, the guttural sound of a man barely civilized.
She releases my cock with an obscene sound and the grin she gives me from somewhere around my navel is genuinely dangerous.
She comes, reluctantly, like I'm interrupting something important. When she's level with my face I brush her hair back from her cheek and she stops pretending to be put out.
"I want to feel you come all over my cock and fill your sweet, wet pussy with my seed," I say against her mouth, and the sound she makes goes straight to my balls.
I roll her onto her back.
She is perfect. I told her that last night and I meant it and the morning light coming through the curtains does not revise the opinion. The sheet is pooled around her waist and her dark hair is everywhere and she's watching me from underneath all of it with those eyes that make it impossible to think straight.
"You have that expression on your face right now," she says. "Like a lion about to pounce on a gazelle."
"Yes." I smirk at her. She's always been the only one who can make me smile through anything. "That's exactly what you are, a little gazelle."
"It's alarming."
"Good." I press a kiss to her jaw, and another to the soft skin below her ear, and she tips her head back and all conversational interest exits the premises.
I travel down the length of her throat, over her collarbone, over the curve of her chest. She has her hands in my mane and she's gripping in a way that would be classified as urgent by any objective observer. I take my time regardless. I travel over her ribs, along the soft slope of her stomach, and she makes an impatient noise that has my cock throbbing.
Her fingers tighten.
"Demetrius."
"Mm."
"If you stop to admire the scenery one more time, I'm going to lose my mind."
I press a kiss to her hipbone. "The scenery is worth admiring."
"I will throw a pillow at your head. I'm not joking. I will absolutely do it."
I part her thighs and she stops threatening me.
The sounds she makes in the early morning quiet of the room, with the ocean just audible beyond the window and the first light going gold across the ceiling, are the most erotic of my entire adult life. She is gripping my horns the way she did last night, which I have decided is my new favorite thing.
My nostrils flare. She smells intoxicating. Sweet and warm and so slick with arousal that the sight of her pussy, pink and glistening, spread out in the pale morning light, makes my cock jerk.
"Beautiful," I murmur, and I mean it in the most comprehensive way possible.
I press my lips to her inner thigh and her breath staggers. I take my time getting there, pressing open kisses up the soft inside of her thighs until impatience creeps into her breathing, and then I lick, pressing my tongue firmly from her slick opening all the way to her needy little bundle of nerves.
Her breath catches. Her hips roll toward me.
I taste her in long, slow strokes, cataloguing every shudder, every shift of her hips, every tightening of her fingers in my mane. She is soaking, her arousal coating my lips, and I growl against her because she is the sweetest thing I have ever tasted and I could spend the rest of my natural life right here and count myself fortunate.
Her breathing goes shorter, sharper. Her thighs tighten around my head and I take it as the highest compliment. I pressone finger inside her, slow and deliberate, and she clenches around me so tight that my cock throbs with sympathetic need.
I curl my finger forward and the cry that breaks out of her is one I'm going to hear in my sleep for the rest of my life.
