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F’lor whimpers, her hands going to my head. She tugs my mane free from the knot she made for me this morning and then buries her fingers in it, spreading the strands over her thighs. “Mmm, I do like you gentle.”
I roll her clit with my tongue and then suck on it, teasing her. I keep my motions languid, without urgency, and stroke her leg as I ease it over my shoulder. “I could stay here all night, my pretty F’lordeliza,” I murmur against her flesh. “Would you like that?”
She makes a little noise in her throat, arching her hips against my mouth. “Please tell me you’re going to be as awesome at sex in thirty years,” she whispers. “Because if I get to have this every day for the rest of my life, I might die of happiness.”
I lift my head to run my lips over the soft skin of her inner thigh. “Then I please you? You are not sad that it is I’rec between your thighs instead of R’jaal?”
F’lor makes an irritated noise and yanks on my mane. “Are you trying to get me off or not?”
I scrape my teeth against her thigh, then lick her there. “Does it bother you if I mention his name?”
“I don’t want to think about anyone’s tongue on that pussy but yours.” She pats the tuft of fur between her thighs. “So if you keep mentioning him, I’m gonna have to take care of myself.”
And she puts a finger on my nose, pushing me back. The moment she does, her fingers go to her clit and she rubs it, hard and fast.
With a hiss, I push her hand away, replacing it with my mouth before she can react. No one touches her cunt but me. Not even her. I suck hard on her clit, and she gasps, her legs seizing up as I do. She locks them around my head and I decide she needs to ride my face as she promised. I roll onto my back, keeping her pressed to my mouth, until she is straddling me, her cunt pressing down against my mouth.
F’lor moans, her hands bracing on the furs above me. She rocks her hips down against my mouth, no longer teasing. Her need is desperate and beautiful, and for long, delicious moments, I mouth her cunt, loving each fold, teasing the nub of her clit with the tip of my tongue, and then licking down to her core. I tease her with light, delicate flicks of my tongue, until she grinds her cunt against me, whimpering for more.
“Tell me who you sit upon,” I demand, my cock throbbing in my loincloth. I reach down to grip it, squeezing tight even as she rocks against my face. “Tell me whose mouth you ride.”
“Yours,” she breathes.
“And what is my name?”
F’lor growls, realizing my game. I want her to say it, and say it loud. I want everyone in the camp to hear it. Let them know I am pleasuring my mate. Let them all know. It is something to be proud of. So I flick her clit with my tongue and then stop, waiting.
“I’rec,” she protests, rocking against my face.
“Louder,” I say. “I want them all to hear it.”
She squeezes my ears with her thighs, pushing her cunt against my mouth again. “You big bully,” she pants. “Lick your fucking mate.”
“I will once she shouts my name,” I say, and I love this. I love her neediness. I love that she does not fold when I growl at her, but growls back. I love that she is fierce and knows what she wants in the furs. I love that she rocks atop my face with abandon and only gets frustrated when I stop. She is magnificent…and she is mine.
My cock throbs hard in my loincloth, and the heels of my boots dig into the moss just outside the tent. I know what it must look like, and I do not care. I am marking my female in every way possible—with my scent, with my touch, with a demonstration. They will all know F’lor ismine.
“Say it and I will tongue your sweet cunt,” I demand.
“I’rec,” she moans, rocking against my nose. Her hand steals to her cunt and I push it away again.
“Louder,” I demand, and graze my tongue over her clit, making her twitch. I want to shove my hand into my loincloth and jerk my cock, but teasing F’lor is a greater pleasure than I have ever thought, and it must come first. “Whose face do you ride?”
“I’rec,” F’lor cries out, loud enough for the others to hear. “Please!”
Hot, satisfied pleasure unfurls through me, and I grip one of her thighs, my other hand teasing between her legs. I slide a finger into her channel, seeking that ultra-sensitive spot that she loves for me to touch. “Tell me what you want, and tell me loud.”
“Fuck,” she whimpers, and then fastens a hand in my mane, gripping so tight it feels as if she might tear a fistful out. The edge of pain just adds to the pleasure, because she rocks frantically against my mouth again. “Make me come!”
“And where are you?”
“S-sitting on your face,” she sobs as I brush my finger against that rough spot on her inner walls. She wheezes when I touch that spot, hunching. “So good, I’rec. Oh please!”
“Louder,” I demand, my hips bucking at nothing but air. Her need is slicking my mouth and chin, her thighs clamping down tight around my face, and it is glorious. I hear someone chuckle outside, near the crackling fire, but let them chuckle.
She whimpers again, grinding down against my mouth. Then, loudly, “I’rec if you don’t make me come, so help me God—”
I suck on her clit, latching onto the sensitive bud as I rub the spot inside her, giving her what she wants.
