For a moment, I simply watch her, watch the glide of water sheets through the valley of her spine. Watch her ass clench and ease, the small arch at the top, the way she tries to breathe through the building pressure.
I press my lips against her ass, drag my tongue along her wet skin, then turn her around.
Her back hits the tile; our gazes lock. And I see it immediately—the want in her hands, the way her fingers hover at her sides, uncertain. She wants to touch me. Doesn't know if she's allowed. Doesn't know where.
Her eyes drop to my shoulders, my arms, then come back to my face with that specific expression she gets when her professional brain and her body are having two completely different conversations.
While still on my knees, I take her hand, guiding it slowly, watching her face the whole time, and press her palm to the back of my head—fingers threading into my wet hair. It’s the same way she did in the dining room when she looked up at me and saidthis is yourslike she meant it down to the bone.
“Here,” I say quietly. “Keep it here.” I hold her gaze. “Don't go lower.”
She understands, and her eyes soften with it.
I stay on my knees—the only throne I’ll ever kneel at—and look up the length of her. Worshipful. Starving. She’s flushed, nipples tight and begging, water streaming down her body like liquid silk.
My tongue traces the wet line down from her navel to her hip bone, soap beading on my lips as I draw slow circles. Her stomach tenses, her breath quickening with every inch closer, and keeps her hand exactly where I left it.
My nose nudges right where the slit of her pussy starts—soft, warm, slick with more than just shower water. I breathe her in, slow and deep, letting the scent of her cunt fill my lungs like smoke.
“I’ve dreamt about this every night,” I rasp, voice rough with months of deprivation. I close my eyes and nudge again, firmer this time, dragging the bridge of my nose down her folds, then curve my tongue, licking her all the way up until the tip brushes her swollen clit.
Her hips jerk. A broken sound escapes her throat. I do it again, slower, savoring it, parting her with the flat of my tongue like I’m memorizing every inch I missed. I lick her like she’s delicate and filthy at the same time—slow, sensual strokes that tease her entrance, circle her clit, then slide back down to taste her slick.
Every time her thighs start to tremble, every time her fingers tighten in my hair and her breath turns into those desperate little whimpers that make my cock throb painfully against my stomach, I pull back.
I press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the crease of her thigh instead. Let her cool. Let her ache.
It’s a beautiful kind of torture, this tension that only heightens as I keep her right at the edge, refusing to let her tip over yet.
“Reth… please… I’m so close?—”
“I know.” I nudge my nose against her again, right at that perfect starting point of her slit, rubbing it in lazy circles while I speak against her wet flesh. “I know exactly how close you are. I can feel it. I can taste it.”
I lick her once more—long, slow—lapping at her inner lips, dipping just inside her cunt, then swirling around her clit until her knees buckle and she’s grinding against my face.
Then I stop.
Again.
I rise to my feet, water streaming off us both, and pull her against me. My cock slides hot and heavy between her thighs, gliding along her soaked pussy without pushing inside. I kiss her deep, letting her taste how fucking addicted I am to her.
“You’re not coming yet, Cherry-red,” I murmur against her swollen lips, voice dark and low. “Not until you’re dripping down my chin and begging with my name like it’s the only word you remember.”
I shut off the water and carry her straight to the bed, setting her down as I get on, drop to my back, and drag her up my body with both hands locked on her hips.
“Up here,” I growl, voice already wrecked. “Now.”
Sophia’s thighs tremble as she crawls higher, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of my head. She lingers there for half a second—still shy, still sweet even when she’s wet for me.
I don’t let her hesitate.
“Sit. Don’t hover.” My arms hook around her thighs, and I pull her down. “I want your pussy smothering me like you missed me.”
“Oh, God,” she moans, and the second her swollen cunt makes contact with my mouth, I groan like a man who’s finally come home.
Jesus. She’s soaked. Hot. Sweet as sin.
I open my mouth wide and devour her, tongue dragging through her folds in long, greedy strokes while I bury my nose against her clit and breathe her in.
