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My cock is harder than ever before, deep in her. I can feel her warmth enveloping me, teasing me. Her pussy flutters around me, and I bend over her, wrapping an arm around her chest. I thrust up at a new angle, hitting a spot that makes stars burst behind her eyes.
"Oh god, Philippe, I'm going to come!" she gasps. I redouble my efforts, my hips slapping against hers furiously until her tickle reaches a full-blown explosion, and she cums around me with a scream.
Her climax triggers my own, and I bury myself to the hilt, spilling deep inside her. We collapse onto the bed, breathless and sated, our hearts pounding as one.
We wake tangled together in the sheets. Tatiana stirs against me, her eyes blinking open. She smiles up at me, soft and sleepy.
"Good morning," she murmurs. I brush a lock of hair from her face, tracing the line of her cheek.
"It's nearly four," I tell her. She yawns and stretches, the motion pulling the covers down to reveal her naked body.
"I should shower," she says reluctantly.
I frown, tightening my arms around her. The thought of her leaving so soon fills me with an irrational surge of possessiveness. I want to keep her here, warm and pliant in my bed.
"Stay," I whisper, nuzzling her neck. She sighs, tilting her head to give me better access.
"Shower," her words are firm, but I can hear the longing in her tone. My lips find the pulse in her throat, and it quickens under my touch. “And we must get back to the compound. You have an early day at work tomorrow.”
"Just a little while longer," I plead, rolling her onto her back. I settle between her thighs, hardness pressed against her heat. Her eyes darken with renewed desire as she gazes up at me.
“Join me?” she suggests, having it her way as she winks and steps away from me.
I follow as Tatiana steps into the shower, the water cascading over her naked body. I quietly watch, sitting on the countertop,captivated by her hourglass beauty. She is utterly sublime like this, bare and unguarded, lost in the simple pleasure of the warm spray.
The water drips down the arch of her lower back, down her ass. She lathers shampoo in her air. Then she bends to soap her legs. It is a sight for sore eyes.
The whole time, she keeps her eyes closed, lips in a small smile. She enjoys the simple things in life. And I? I enjoy her.
She begins singing a haunting Italian aria that tugs at my heart:the Nessun Dormafrom Puccini's opera‘Turandot’.
The lyrics speak of a prince awaiting the dawn of a new day, of love and hope entwined—things my mother wanted for me. Things Tatiana, my little songbird, promises me.
It is a song my mother used to sing many years ago. A surge of bittersweet nostalgia washes over me at the sound of that familiar melody. As Tatiana sings, I close my eyes, allowing the rise and fall of her voice to wash over me.
‘Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma!
(None shall sleep! None shall sleep!)
Tu pure, o Principessa,
(You too, O Princess,)
Nella tua fredda stanza
(In your cold room,)
Guardi le stelle
(Look at the stars)
Che tremano d'amore e di speranza’
(That tremble with love and hope.)
When she ends, I don’t realize I let out a sob. Tatiana turns, her eyes meeting mine, and in that moment, I see the depth of her understanding. She knows, without my telling, that this song holds significant meaning for me.
She draws me into the shower, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me down for a tender kiss. Memories flash through my mind, fragments of a childhood long past. My mother's face, beautiful and careworn, as she sings me to sleep. Her gentle hands stroked my hair and wiped away my tears after a hard day, telling me to look forward to tomorrow. The warmth of her embrace, a haven in a world that was often cold and cruel.
