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Those hands move again, back to my waist, calluses caressing sensitive skin before he cups my breasts. He holds them, a thumb from each hand circling tight and sensitive nipples.
I gasp at the sensation before just barely leaning in to get more. His eyes move up to me, and although mine are hooded with pleasure, the half-smirk on his lips is still visible.
He doesn't stop staring at me as his head leans forwards, his mouth surrounding one nipple and sucking it into his mouth, this tongue laving the flesh as he does.
I moan low, the feeling incredible, a string that runs straight to my clit pulling tight.
His hand tugs the nipple of the other breast as he sucks, and I whimper, my body instinctively moving closer to get more.
He pulls back and laughs.
He fucking laughs.
"God, you are going to be perfect for me, aren't you?" he asks, rolling the wet nipple between his fingers. The other hand moves back down the curve of my waist, a thumb tucking into my panties and dragging them down. I lift one leg and then the other, and finally, I'm standing in front of this man completely naked, while he stays wholly dressed.
I fucking love it.
I love the power coursing in my veins, the way he's looking at me like I could do no wrong at this moment.
The way he looks at me like he wants to devour, to possess me.
The hand that helped my thong down moves back up, over my knee then to my inner thigh, gentle fingers brushing up as they go.
My breathing escalates as I anticipate what will come next.
The side of his pointer finger moves along me, parting me gently as it does, dragging up.
"God, you're wet," he says, lifting the hand up then putting his finger in his mouth, eyes locked to mine as he tastes me, groaning as he does.
"Hand on my shoulders, baby."
"What?"
"Hands." He takes one of mine, placing it on his shoulder. "On my shoulders." He repeats the move with the other hand.
I'm confused until I need his shoulders to hold myself steady as his hands move to my leg, hitching it up onto the bed.
"That's a good girl." As I steady myself, I look at him, expecting to see him staring at me, smiling at me, but his eyes are on my wet pussy, on the tip of his finger that's slowly circling my clit. "Now I can see you," he says, and I moan loudly, my head moving to look up at the ceiling, my hair tumbling down my back. I'm not sure when he took the ponytail holder out, but the silky hair on my back heightens everything. "No. No, you watch too," he says, and I obey, watching his fingers gently play with me. Teasing touches, gentle slides.
Never giving me pressure, never entering, never anything.
"Dante—"
"Tell me what you need, Delilah."
"Dante, I—"
"I'm happy right here, fiorella," he says, that finger moving, grazing my already swollen clit, making my hips jolt. "I could do this all night."
"I need more," I whisper, nervous, the confident siren seeming to sleep while this god is in her presence.
"What do youneed, Delilah?"
I've never had to do this.
Not that there has been much ofthis.
But I've done this much. Not much more, but this, I've done.
