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She laughs. “Totally. But one thing at a time, big fella. Nobody makes that much semen.”
“Now I get my chance,” I say, arching an eyebrow, “to teach you a thing about elves.”
“Teach me, then. And say when,” Ivy says, crawling down my body and taking me into her mouth once more. As she pumps me with her mouth and licks her hands to use those at the root, I am spellbound by my sorceress of a human.
When I hit the back of her throat, I almost forget where I am or what I’m supposed to do.
“When,” I grunt. “When!”
Ivy pops me out of her mouth and closes her eyes. I watch in awe as she squeezes and pumps my release all over her pretty face. I come and come, spilling down her soft cheeks and over her chin, dripping down her perfect throat.
She angles over me as I come and come in violent bursts, releasing my seed over her bitten breasts.
“So much…there’s so much!” Ivy cries.
I reach my hand down to pet her hair, threading my fingers through it.
“I know.”
Ivy looks up at me and licks her lips. “Can I? Please?”
“If you wish.”
My Ivy takes me into her mouth once again, and I wrap her hair around my fist.
ChapterEleven
Ivy
Cyran tastes like snow, sugar, and cream in my mouth.
Next time he makes his terrible tea, I’ll just ask him to nut in it before serving it to me.
This is it. I’m officially ruined for human men. Every little thing about Cyran makes me fall for him. His kisses are addicting enough. Lord almighty, I’ll never be able to look at a puny human erection again. Not when I’ve had that baseball bat shoved down my throat.
My Christmas lover pulls me up by the hair to kiss me fiercely. His orgasm doesn’t seem to have abated his arousal at all.
“Lie down, my queen, and let me paint you.”
At first I have a passing thought that he might want to paint a picture of me. But then I see it. As I lie back on the fur, his long elven fingers smear through the mess he made. He then proceeds to paint me with it. First my nipples, then my lips.
My spent body trembles as I watch him use my body as his canvas.
When he’s satisfied with his artwork, he kisses me fearlessly, spearing his tongue into my mouth. His still-rigid erection presses into my thigh.
“How are you still hard?” I ask.
“Because all I can think about,” he says, “is feeding from you as you fed from me.”
Cyran underlines this by cupping my mound, sending a fresh wave of pleasure through me.
“I thought I was finished but…yes, please!”
I love how this creature half-asses nothing the second I give him permission. I love the way he knocks my legs apart and spreads open my lips with his fingers, growling as his eyes feast on me first.
“You’re swollen and needy again,” he says through gritted teeth.
Did I mention I can’t get enough of his bare-bones descriptions? He has no time for flowery words.
