He’s such a beautiful sight, and he’s all mine.
* * *
“So I just add this?” I ask nervously, holding the drops carefully. I don’t want to mess this up. Conall has been brewing this batch for a long time, and I would hate to ruin it, but I love helping him. He was so excited when I asked if I could help him tonight. The passionate way he spoke about his hobby turned me on, but I remain focused on getting this right and making him proud.
“Yes, just one drop with the dropper, Thea,” he replies, and when I still hesitate, he shoots me a grin, steps behind me, and wraps his arms around me. He holds the dropper, and together, we add it to the vat. “Good girl,” he murmurs into my ear, making me shiver.
The bastard chuckles and steps back, knowing exactly what he is doing.
Grumbling, I stir it like he taught me, watching as he chops up herbs. His bare back muscles clench with the movement, his hair hanging in braids over one shoulder. His trousers are low and tight on his taut ass. I almost drool at the sight of him. I’m a lucky girl, a very lucky girl. As he turns, giving me a good view of his arms as he chops the herbs, I watch the play of his muscles, and when he glances back, I’m just staring at him with the spoon held in my hand.
He gives me the same grin he gave me when he first saw me as he points at the brew. “Stir, Thea,” he commands, but there’s a silky quality to his voice. “And when this one is done brewing, I’ll bend you over this table and you can show me all those dirty thoughts.”
I can’t help but grin at that. “All of them? We will be here for a while, mate,” I tease.
“We’ve got time.” He winks. “Now be a good girl for me and stir.”
You bet your ass I turn around and stir like my life depends on it. I hear him laughing, but I simply grin and focus on stirring, and when it’s left to cool down and the herbs are added, I step closer, running my hand down his chest. “I was a good girl, such a good girl. Do I get my reward now?”
Gripping my hips, he lifts me effortlessly and places me on his work bench. “Of course, mate. I’m a man of my word.” Sliding my skirt up to expose my bare pussy, he groans and drops to his knees before me, inhaling my scent as I spread my legs.
“No matter what flavour I make, I can never match the incredible smell and taste of your pretty pussy. I know because I’ve tried over and over.”
My head falls back as his talented tongue runs over my folds, tasting every inch like he’s savouring notes of tea or wine.
“Never be as perfect as you,” he mumbles, circling my pussy with his tongue before pushing inside. Gripping his head, I lean back, grinding against his mouth. Watching him work for hours made me dripping wet, and I’m so close to coming already, it’s almost embarrassing, but my mate loves it, cleaning up my cream before teasing my clit. He takes his time, pleasuring me like he approaches everything else—methodically.
“Conall,” I beg.
His tongue speeds up as his shadows crawl along his arms, and just like the other night, one of the tendrils slips inside my pussy, wiggling. It feels so good as it stretches me and pushes against those nerves inside me. A smaller one joins it, sliding into my ass and claiming both holes as he sucks on my clit.
I scream as I come on his tongue and table.
Sliding up my body, he grips my chin and kisses me hard, forcing me to taste my cum as his tendrils slowly pull from my body. “See?” he says when he leans back. “In fact, stay there and keep that pretty pussy wet for me. I can keep tasting it as I try to replicate it.”
And so I do. I play with my pussy as he works. Every now and again, he drops to his knees to taste me, only to end up making me come and squirt all over his table as if he can’t resist, and then he goes back to trying to make a tea that tastes like my pussy for my mates.
Hours later, he seems happy, while I’m shaking and unable to move after having so many orgasms, I can’t even count them. I jump down but almost fall to the floor on noodle legs.
He catches me and frowns at his work bench. “We have to clean our workspace when we are done, mate.” Gripping my hair, he pushes me down. “Clean it.”
Groaning, I lick up the stains of my cum for him. Lifting me, he leans down and does the same, and then he turns and kisses me roughly. “See? All better.”
“I’m dead. I can’t walk,” I whine, and he hoists me into his arms.
“Then I’ll carry you everywhere.” He winks down at me. “Now let’s feed you.”
“Yes please, then nap.”
“So demanding, little queen.” He laughs, the sound echoing around our home.
“Again,” I call, watching her form. She’s holding the wooden sword I carved for her, and she channels my memories as she slices the blade through the air above her head and turns, bringing it down and ending in a crouch. “Good, you are getting really good.”
“Then can I finally use a real sword?” She huffs as she straightens.