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Ghosting my knuckles over her seam, I peer down at her face, watching carefully for the slightest change in demeanor. Her lips part as my thumb comes up, swiping across her clit, the moan that falls from her mouth the sweetest fucking sin I’ve ever experienced.
I catch it with mine, covering her lips in the same second I increase the pressure on her clit, matching each stroke of my tongue to the long, languid swirls of my thumb. She pulses beneath me, her body coming alive like an instrument being fine-tuned by its master, and I groan into her, wanting nothing more than to crawl inside her skin and never come back out.
Pushing myself deeper into the kiss, until all I can fucking taste is this one singular moment in time, I release her throat, using that hand to pull the bodice of her dress down over her breasts. One strap rips free, making her hiss into me, but I ignore it, pinching a nipple between my fingers, then rolling it under my thumb.
Her hips swivel the faster I move against her, desperate for the slice of euphoria only I get to give her. Sliding her arms up my chest, she claws at my neck, tiny slivers of pain making me jerk forward in rapture, as I almost topple over into the theater chair.
“Fuck,” I curse, dragging my mouth from hers.
Taking a step back, I drop to my knees, the state of the dirty floor not even a concern as I become eye level with her glistening pussy. I dive forward, needing to taste her at least once before anything goes further, sucking one lip into my mouth before pulling back.
“Think you can balance yourself on the chair?” I ask. My voice is so husky, so fucking needy, that it’s almost unrecognizable. She shifts, resting her elbows behind her and sliding her ass onto the armrest, leaning back to give me a better view. “Spread your legs, little one. I want to see just how fucking angry you are.”
Silently, she obeys, tilting her hips up as her knees fall open. My breath hitches, the scent of her arousal drilling itself into my brain, something I never want to forget as long as I live. I lean in, scaling my nose up the inside of her thigh, inhaling as I try to imprint the entire scene into my memory.
“Do you think anyone can see?” she asks softly, and I glance up as my tongue finds her scar—my scar—and flicks out over the mangled skin.
Scoring my teeth over her flesh, I revel in the way she convulses, wishing I could bottle her mannerisms and noises and drink them down. Make them a part of me.
“Do you want them to see?” I ask, my breath coasting across her pussy, my mouth mere millimeters away.
She stares down her body at me, twisting and untwisting her lips, before giving the slightest nod. Goose bumps flourish on her skin like tiny blossoms, a spring bloom just for me, sending all my blood south.
“Of course, you do.” I inch closer, flicking the tip of my tongue against her silken flesh, savoring the taste. “My wife wants to show everyone what a little cock whore she is, doesn’t she?”
“I want her to know,” she says in a low voice, tangling her fingers in my hair. “I want her to know it’s nothing like what you had with her. That she can’t make you come like I do.”
“Fuck,” I moan, her jealousy a live wire to my cock, making my vision blur. Bringing my thumbs up to spread her, I lick up and down the length of her, sucking and nibbling, avoiding her favorite spot until the very last second. “Horny little bitch. You want to make Mommy jealous?”
“Please,” she whimpers, bucking her hips, asking for more.
Sliding my arms beneath her thighs, I lift her slightly, digging my fingers into the meat of her ass before diving in for my feast.
Her head falls back immediately, fingers scraping across my scalp as they twist and pull, trying to edge me even closer. My tongue alternates between light circles and sharp figure eights, flicking and licking and massaging until her thighs are shaking.
They clench, covering my ears so all I can hear is my own blood rushing between them, my heart pounding in my throat, and I redouble my efforts, sealing my mouth over her lips and sucking hard.
“Oh, shit,” her muffled voice moans, so loud that I’m sure everyone around us can hear it.
“Look at me,” I command, my mouth vibrating against her skin. I slide my hand down, pushing two fingers into her sopping sex, curling up until her back bows. “You don’t ever look anywhere else when you come on my tongue, little one. Eyes on me, and my name on those pretty lips.”
She resists, biting her lip as I dive back in, adding a third finger, driving in until she’s tensing, her inner walls fluttering around me.
I feel her pulse in my chest, the quiver of her muscles in my bones, but she looks away, and all I can see is the hurt that remains.
“Wait,” I say, feeling her orgasm sticking as it crests, like she wants to let go but is still having a hard time getting out of her head. Reaching into my suit with my free hand, I quickly pull out my pocket knife.
The same pocket knife I used on her months ago, branding her skin with my first initial, like I knew even then what importance she’d come to hold for me.
I flick it open, watching her for signs of distress or reluctance, but just like last time, when I gently press the blade into her thigh, all it does is renew the fire in her eyes.
Still stroking with my other hand, I point the tip of the knife into her skin, pausing for the briefest second, waiting.
She clamps down around me tighter, the slightest shift of her hips telling me all I need to know.
Slowly, I nick her, my mouth watering as blood beads beneath the blade. Increasing the pressure just slightly, I drag it up, across, then up again, finishing with a flourish.
She hisses at the pain, white-knuckling my hair as I toss the knife aside and lave my tongue over the wound, lapping at the coppery essence before it can make much of a mess.
