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He starts to pump, fucking my mouth and throat with abandon. With the cosmic gravity of his eyes bearing down on me, I almost come again from the forbidden eroticism.
“Fuck, Aria, such a good girl taking my cock. Your throat is strangling me, woman!”
I take a measure of pride at the sounds of him grunting and growling, so deep and low, it defies the very nature of vocal cords, human and animal.
His other hand strokes my cheek and comes to rest upon my chin. More wetness fills my center at the tender touch, so intimate. I love both sides of him, this master of degradation and depravity, yet sweet affection.
Once I cried out his name, something changed in him. It’s different now—our bond. Those jagged edges softened as he took me on the tour. They nearly melted when he had his face between my legs for gods knows how long. Now, they’ve all but disappeared.
“You can’t fathom how much I’ve been trying to hold off, take it slow,” he says while dragging in gusts of air. “But I won’t last, Butterfly. Not with your sweet mouth taking me in. I won’t fucking last!”
Retracting his hips, he pulls out to give me a breath of fresh air before spearing me again. This time, he fucks my mouth hard and fast in rhythmic, staccato thrusts that betray how close he is. At the first sign of something, no somethings, brushing along the roof and sides of my mouth, I register the tongue extensions. Oh, fucking fornication, they’re incredible!
More heat thrashes through me. I’m so sore and swollen, and after all the prior pleasure, I shouldn’t have the strength to kneel on this cold marble floor. But I want to show him how much I love this. My throat will be as sore as my pussy, but I suck him down with fervor and mirror his rhythm.
Eros explodes. Head thrown back, he jerks his hips, thrusting long and deep into me. I wince, preparing myself for the salty flavor as he practically shoots a small geyser. I can’t swallow it fast enough. Too much gushes out of my mouth and streams down my chin. But on the way out, the flavor bursts on the tip of my tongue, and I squeal all around him.
When his eyes snap back to mine, and he sports a shit-eating grin, I come off his cock, licking my lips.
Flushed and fuming, I firm my lips into a pouting glower and proclaim, “You asshole!”
I dive back in, wrapping my mouth all around him.
“Are you going to—oh, you are going to…” he trails off and gusts deep breaths with both hands in my curls. “Fuck, Butterfly!” he growls when I lightly scrape my teeth along his length.
“Shut up, Eros,” I snap, and he’s really in no position to argue or punish me more when I take him as deep as I can go. “And give me more of thatchocolatemilkshake!”
18
“Eros needs a prank intervention.”
EROS
Seems I’ve discovered my butterfly’s little chocolate addiction. And my addiction…with her mouth.
At some point, I will reveal the magic of how she may choose white, milk, or dark. For now, I carry her back to the suite and take the time to bathe her. I take no prisoners. Her blissful little nipples deserve a reprieve. As does her hyper-sensitized rosy channel with its tight hole—chafed from my fingers—and folds puffy from pleasure. As Crescendo said, mortals require tending like a precious rose.
I plan the menu since I may conjure any food I desire and intend to surprise my little chocolate fanatic. After her bath, I carry her to the bed, where I massage healing oil into her skin.
Though I’m careful not to linger in her erogenous zones, it does not escape my attention how her pussy clenches. I smile at her adorably pouty gestures while stroking the oil into her lowerlegs to strengthen her calves so she may regain mobility in her limbs.
Closing her eyes with a little moan as I massage her feet, Aradia remarks, “You’re not what I expected.”
I stiffen. My jaw clenches as I direct her, “Turn over.”
Sighing, she rolls over on the bed, so I may rub the oil onto her back. First, I comb my fingers through her sodden curls and scatter them out of the way, paying more attention to her shoulders. She shivers. The shoulders are not appreciated enough, but hers are lovely…and quite sensitive.
“What did you expect?” I’m aware of the bite in my tone while I work my fingers into her back. “A chubby little cherub with Q-tip fluffy wings shooting arrows like a blind huntsman?”
“No…” she giggles as I roam my hands to her lower waist, then moans in gratitude.
“Not a cherub at all. But I expected you to be more—”
“Charming? Romantic? Amorous? Clad in robes of little red hearts?”
She turns and shifts her curls out of her eyes. “I was going to say demonic.”
I pause and lift a brow.
