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“So soft,” he whispered, nuzzling them. Then he was on her in an instant, mouth ravenous, tasting her without a barrier.
Clara’s eyelids fluttered at the drag of his velvety tongue laving a nipple. She abandoned her grip on the bedding to clutch his head.
The tip of his tongue slid down from one peak into the flat valley between, gently licked across her sternum and up her other swell, which he then worshiped at length.
James moved down her body, nude except for the rosebud drawers loose on her hips. With care, he nipped at the groove of her waist, then untied her drawers. He lowered them, stopping just above her pubic bone.
He groaned, his fingers flexing against the flesh on her hips, then bent and rubbed a cheek against the slight swell of her belly. His tongue darted out to taste her skin, testing her softness.
“More,” she whimpered, pushing down against his shoulders.
When their eyes met, his wolfish gaze reassured and inflamed her.
∞∞∞
James smelled her arousal, his mouth watering. He didn’t want to rush; he needed Clara mindless with wanting more. She was unexpectedly brazen in her desires despite being altogether new to this, but he held himself back.
He ran his long fingers lightly over her mons, exposed by the gap in her drawers.He murmured when she opened her thighs wider.
A hint of her clitoris slipped into view. He traced from the top of her glistening seam down, dipping his thick finger into her hot syrup.
With his lightest touch, his wet finger stroked the side of her hooded clit, earning a strained cry. Breathing harder, his thumb and forefinger delicately closed over her bud.
Her deep, wordless sounds spurred him; he drew on her clit a few more times like that. His own sex throbbed as he watched the opening to her vagina contract rhythmically.
He slid her drawers off, needing the sight of Clara naked and wet for him.
Her long hair was a wild mess framing her head; her pleading green eyes were glazed and only half open. Her parted mouth was a darker pink than the light rose of her nipples.
He pushed her long legs up and open in front of him again, loving the feel of her heavy thighs in his hands. He tested her flexibility, pressing with a single forearm until the backs of her knees rose up past her waist.Her pussy rose toward him, and he resisted his own eagerness.
He reinserted a finger into Clara’s wetness with a slight squelching sound. She pressed strongly against his arm; his triceps flared as he pushed back against her.
He returned to stroking her clit, sometimes gently, sometimes more firmly. For long minutes, he touched her while she cried out, panted, and pressed against the unrelenting bar of his arm.
James had been dipping into her passage to spread her wetness, her muscles tightening around him as if to pull him in.
He resisted—until now.
This time, he paired his fore and middle fingers and carefully penetrated her. This wrought new primal sounds from her, deep in her throat and low in octave.
Her breath hitched and her body clamped whenever he bent his fingers slightly, hooking into her. So he did that—again and again.
“God, I want you,” he tried to say, but not even he could make out his garbled words.
Only when Clara was dripping and clamped around him, her head moving side to side, her hands clutching at the bedding, did he pull his fingers from her.
Panting softly, his forehead glistening, James lowered his arm, and her legs fell down weakly. As soon as her heels met the bed, her hips sought him.
“Have you ever climaxed, Clara?”
She closed her eyes, looking frustrated. “Yes.”
“How?”
She lifted a hand.
“Show me how.”
