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I don’t know what he sees in my gaze — nervous excitement? But whatever it is, Danny beams as he dips his mouth to the softness of my lower belly. His warm breath tickles the tiny hairs across my skin, causing them to stand on end. The tip of his tongue peeks out, his mouth descending slowly, and Danny begins to lap at the frosting on my skin.
“Fuck.” It’s a gasp I can’t contain. My body jerks uncontrollably, as though Danny’s guiding me upward, hooking me with nothing but his talented mouth. I hadn’t expected the sensations. His tongue is one hot wet tease as he licks up the swirly lines of sugar, his breath flaring heat across my belly. Danny’s brown eyes sparkle up at me with curiosity as he continues his careful attention across my body.
He’s broken the ice — or the icing sugar. Luke and Finlay lie on opposite sides of me, and they follow Danny’s lead as they lower their mouths to my skin.There are three mouths on my body, I think dazedly to myself, writhing between each sucking, licking, laving mouth. I can’t even watch, I’m so overcome with the electricity of this situation. Luke and Finlay have the good grace to indulge themselves with my breasts at the same time, one on either side, and it’s the act of having two men suckling each frosting-covered breast that causes me to cry out. My underwear floods with unexpected wetness, and my mind twists itself into dizziness, like a maze, as it struggles to chronicle whose lips are where. Breathlessly, I think to myself that I may shatter there and then.
I’m a banquet — my whole body stretched out, laid out and sweetly decorated, just for them to devour.
And devour they do.
Tongues skim my skin but teeth soon replace them, and the sweet little licks give way to sharp testing nips. When most of the top layer of sugar is lapped up, only the hard remnants remain glued to my skin, and three pairs of teeth delicately run up and down my body, causing warring sensations inside me. There are tweaks to my nipples, wet kisses and bite marks to my breasts, in order to claim the sugar. My whole body is a mess of sugar and saliva, and I’ve never felt as hot and as cold at the same time.
I’m so overwhelmed that I realize it’s not just my body that’s wet — it’s my face. Ridiculously, I’m crying. The combined sensations are too much but it’snot enough, and my tears are of need and frustration and sheer, utter bliss. I almost forget that I’m in the chiefs’ dorm, believing instead to be spirited away to a peaceful land of clouds and candy.
Danny blows gently upon my stomach, scattering cool air across my flushed, reddened body like cracks spreading in ice. My eyes flutter open, and the first thing I see is Rory. He’s moved onto the bed, as though to get a better view. I swallow, wondering how long he’s been watching me. His expression is unlike anything I’ve seen — the way he looks at me, it’s as though he’s feasting his gaze on a marvel that belongs behind the glass of a high-security gallery.
He leans forward, my tears blurring out the rest of the room so that only Rory is in focus. His thumb lightly brushes the dampness beneath my eyelid, and he looks at the tear that’s captured on the tip of his skin. “I trust this is an indication of desire rather than dissatisfaction?” he murmurs, and as the crest of orgasm builds within my body, Rory’s business-like tone is almost enough to tip me over the edge.
I nod, turning my head into the pillows to hide my face. Rory takes my chin between his fingers and returns my face upward. “I want to see you,” he says. “Don’t shy away.”
“I’m not shy,” I mumble, but right now it feels like a lie. My eyelashes sparkle as I blink up at the gray stone ceiling. I’m wet all over, every inch and crevice of my naked upper body is soaked, and all Rory can do is sit beside me and admire.
Rory strokes a strand of hair from my face. “I want to kiss you.” It’s not a request — it never is with Rory. But his gaze is speculative as it drops to my lips. He takes his thumb, still with my tear on the pad, and smears it across my bottom lip. I can’t help but lick it away, and instantly I taste salt. Salt, in a night of sugar. It reminds me, strangely, of Rory — the others are so sweet and shamelessly saccharine around me, but Rory will always be an all-English pillar of aristocratic decorum, stiff upper lip included.
I watch as Rory cups my cheek. He lowers his mouth to mine, and that first press of his lips is like arriving home. I feel myself relax into the pillows, and I curl a hand around Rory’s neck to bring him closer to me. I’ve missed this. I want this always. How did we go weeks with the freedom to kiss and come, and now we’re cloistered away in a castle that refuses to let us even acknowledge one another?
When Rory pulls away, I let out an unbidden whine. A roguish smirk ghosts the corner of his mouth. “You taste divine,” he declares, and then shifts aside, almost off the bed entirely. No. No, I need him. My obsessed soul hungers for Rory to stay here beside me. Something metallic glints in the light and I realize Rory’s now holding the piping bag. I stare at it dumbly as he runs his fingers meditatively down the nozzle.
“I want the others to taste you, too,” Rory says in the kind of tone that makes the other chiefs stop licking me and pay close attention to him. As he turns to face me again, there’s a wicked gleam in his silver eyes. He positions the nozzle above my lips and murmurs, “Open up, little saint.”
