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She wrapped her fingers around the shaft and held it still as she lavished attention on the tip with her tongue. He gasped softly, gasped again, and she thought she’d die of joy at each and every one of his tiny inhalations.
And the taste of him...salt and sweet. And the scent of him, like he’d just bathed in the clear cold waters of a high mountain stream. And the feel of him deep in her mouth. And the sight of him fighting against his modesty with every lick and flick of her tongue.
She took her mouth from him, though she still held him in her hand.
“Do you like it?” she asked.
“Is it...are we allowed to do that?”
“We’re married. We’re allowed to do anything we want together.”
“It feels like it shouldn’t be allowed.”
“So you don’t like it?”
“No, I like it too much. My father, the king, says the pursuit of pleasure leads men astray down evil paths.”
“Your royal father is mostly right,” Lia said. “But he was speaking of idleness and drunkenness, gambling and chasing serving girls. It’s a man’s duty to please his wife. You know that.”
“Does this please you?” he asked. “Putting my...me in your mouth?”
“I wouldn’t do it if it didn’t please me,” she said. “You’d be the best of husbands if you let me continue.”
“And the worst, I presume, if I made you stop?”
“You’re a very wise prince,” she said, and was glad he was blindfolded and couldn’t see her laughing at him. Since she didn’t want him to hear her laughing, either...she put him in her mouth again.
She drew him deeper, past the tip and down to the shaft, and once she had him where she wanted him, she lightly sucked on him as she stroked underneath his cock, the testicles and the sensitive patch of flesh behind them. If there were a painter in residence, this would make quite the mural. A winged goddess on her knees in front of a mortal prince wearing the night tied around his eyes. And his lovely thick organ in her mouth and his fingers twisting in the bedsheets and the muscles of his flat stomach twitching and his head falling back as he moaned...
No matter. She didn’t need a mural to commemorate her wedding night. She was a goddess. People would be telling the tale of her marriage to Prince Psyche until the world ended.
As well they should...
“You have to stop,” her shy prince said. His voice sounded pained, pained from the pleasure. “Or I’ll spill.”
She raised her head and smiled, though he could not see it.
“I want you to. You must.”
“I must?”
“You absolutely must.”
“Oh, well...if I must.”
He collapsed flat on his back, in utter surrender to his bride’s erotic ministrations. Soon he was lost in the ecstasy of her mouth on him. She rose up higher on her knees to take him deeper in her mouth. His back arched on the bed once and then again as she pulled harder on the shaft until it nudged the very back of her throat. Her shy prince wasn’t so shy anymore as he neared climax. He breathed heavy and hard, and groaned with every breath. His cries filled the room to the rafters and she imagined that the whole world could hear the sounds of their lovemaking in the far distance. What would it sound like to them? The cry of a hawk swooping down on a dove? A coming rainstorm? An army marching to war?
Or would they hear and know the truth—that Eros had at last been felled by her own arrow and this was the sound of Love Itself falling in love?
With a final cry, almost loud enough to be a shout, the young prince grasped the sheets and came in her throat. His head lifted off the bed as every muscle in his body contracted in his coming.
She swallowed every last drop of him and would have taken more if he’d had it to give. When it was done, she remained on her knees between his thighs as he lay panting on the bed. She gently kissed his fluttering flat stomach and the butterfly birthmark received a thousand tender kisses all its own.
“How is my prince?” she asked, resting her cheek on his hip.
“Happily married,” he said, chuckling.
She laughed with delight and she delighted in his laugh. She rose from the floor, still delighted, still laughing.
