I lick up her slit slowly, tasting her properly, and nearly lose my mind. She's perfect—wet and responsive andmine. I circle her clit with my tongue, gentle and exploratory, learning what makes her gasp and writhe.
Through the connection, I feel her shock. She's never experienced this before—never had someone focus entirely on her pleasure. Never had someone worship her like this, treating her body as something precious rather than a tool for their own satisfaction.
I'm going to ruin her for anyone else.
The thought is possessive and primitive and absolutely true. No one else will ever touch her like this, taste her like this, know her body the way I'm learning it right now.
I work her slowly, thoroughly, alternating between broad licks and focused attention on her clit. Her thighs tremble on either side of my head. Her hips start moving in rhythm with my tongue, chasing pleasure she's discovering for the first time.
"Rakk—I don't—it's?—"
"Let go," I murmur against her. "Just feel it."
I slide one finger into her carefully, feeling how tight she is, how her body clenches around the intrusion. I curl it, searching, and when I find the spot that makes her cry out I focus there relentlessly.
Her pleasure builds through our connection, spiraling higher and tighter. I can feel it approaching, feel her body tensing toward something she doesn't quite understand yet.
"That's it," I encourage. "Come for me. Let me feel it."
I suck her clit into my mouth at the same moment I press against that internal spot and shebreaks. Her body bows off the floor, her hands fisting in my hair hard enough to hurt. She cries out—my name, I think, though it's barely coherent—and her pussy clenches rhythmically around my finger.
Through the connection, I feel her orgasm like it's my own. The pleasure crashes over me, through me, stealing my breath with its intensity. Pure and overwhelming and absolutely perfect.
I work her through it gently, drawing out every aftershock until she's trembling and oversensitive. When she finally relaxes, boneless and panting, I press a final kiss to her inner thigh and sit back.
She's gorgeous like this—flushed and sated, hair spread around her head like a dark halo. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, nipples still hard, body loose with satisfaction.
I did that. Made her feel that. Gave her the first orgasm anyone's ever given her without taking anything in return.
The knowledge sits warm and proud in my chest.
She opens her eyes slowly, meeting my gaze. Wonder bleeds through the connection—disbelief that pleasure could feel like that, that someone would give it so freely.
"That was—" She can't seem to finish the sentence.
"Good?" I grin, deliberately cocky.
"More." The word comes out breathless but certain. "I want more."
My cock throbs painfully. "Serah?—"
"Please." She sits up, eyes traveling down my body to where my erection strains against my leathers. "I want to know what it's like to choose. To have you. All of you."
Every argument I should make dies in my throat. She wants this. Wants me. I can feel it through our connection—genuine desire mixing with curiosity and trust.
I stand, unlacing my leathers with hands that tremble slightly. I push them down along with my smallclothes, freeing my cock. It springs free, hard and flushed and aching.
Her eyes go wide. Through the connection, I feel her reaction—awe at the size, brief uncertainty if it'll fit, but underneath it all: want. She wants me inside her.
I move back to her but instead of covering her body with mine, I roll to my back on the warm stone. She blinks, confused.
"I don't want to be in control," I tell her. "This needs to be your choice. Your pace. Take what you want from me."
Understanding dawns in her expression. Then heat. She moves over me on trembling limbs, straddling my hips. My cock rests against her stomach, massive and intimidating, but she doesn't pull away.
Her hands brace on my chest. She lifts her hips, positioning herself. The head of my cock presses against her entrance.
We both groan.
