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“It’s all yours,” she murmured, and the request suddenly felt much larger than the moment. Nothing was simple with Manuela, and even when she wasn’t asking, Cora wanted to give her more. Manuela’s tongue when it pierced her was hot and slick. She lapped the length of Cora’s furrow, until she reached that engorged point. Her hands were more certain this morning as she pulled Cora’s legs apart and with two fingers spread her folds until she was completely exposed.
“I could spend a day right here,” she whispered, before diving in. A choked cry escaped Cora’s lips at the savage pleasure being wrung out of her. Her insides melted while she strove to press herself into Manuela’s hungry mouth.
“Dios mio, Manuela,” she groaned, gripping that brown head as teeth, tongue and lips ravished her. The orgasm when it came was abrupt and shattering. Pummeling her, turning her limbs to mush.
“Mm,” Manuela moaned as if she could taste Cora’s climax. Her tongue rolled around Cora’s clitoris again. After a few more chaste kisses to Cora’s labia and some ridiculously sweet little cat licks, Manuela finally turned blazing brown eyes on her.
“Heavenly,” she declared, before slowly sucking on her fingers one by one while Cora watched, transfixed. “May I please have another?”
Cora pounced. In seconds she had a giggling Manuela on her back as she straddled her hips.
“I thought breakfast was going to get cold,” her princess teased as Cora pushed one of her legs back.
“I’m not done with you yet, Señorita Caceres Galvan,” Cora warned, burning for her again. “I’d like to try something with you,” she said and pushed two fingers into Manuela, who in response let her legs fall further open, her eyes closing in apparent bliss.
“Please,” she moaned as Cora fucked in and out a few times, watching her lover’s face go slack with pleasure. Cora let her fingers slide out then lifted herself up until their groins were lined up, their folds gliding against each other deliciously. Only when she was at the perfect angle did she rock forward. Manuela’s eyes flew open comically.
“What—” she began, but the question quickly became a series of hot, frantic sounds when Cora began moving against her again, the friction making currents of pleasure explode inside her.
“Oh, that’s wicked,” Manuela moaned as their thrusts fell into perfect rhythm.
“Pinch your breasts, sweetheart,” Cora demanded circling her hips into Manuela’s.
“Mm, yes,” she gasped as she worried brown nipples between her fingers. She pressed the back of her head into the mattress, the cords of her neck tight as she seemed to hit a particularly pleasurable spot. “I’m—” she broke off as her back arched off the mattress. Her top teeth snagging on her bottom lip as she shook with pleasure.
“Come for me, preciosa,” Cora said hotly, feeling her own orgasm crawling up her spine. A second later Manuela cried out, and she tumbled down right after her.
Eventually they came out of the room and breakfasted. Manuela enjoyed her food, and Cora could not stop staring as she ate breakfast, naked as a babe.
“Are you certain you don’t want one of my robes?” she asked as the heiress walked around the sitting room wearing absolutely nothing.
“No,” she said with a very impish smile. “Unless you want me to.”
Cora sipped on her coffee and shook her head. “This is the best view I’ve had in years.”
Manuela, who was standing in front of one of Cora’s art pieces, turned her head and shot her a dubious look. “I seriously doubt that.”
Cora laughed before standing up and going to Manuela, instinctively placing a kiss on a naked shoulder.
“This is quite something,” Manuela said, as they both looked at the small painting on Cora’s wall.
“It’s calledL’Origine du monde,” Cora told her, and Manuela grunted in response. The image was of a torso. Only a single breast, belly and pubic area of the model were visible. It was shocking in its explicitness. Such a rather coarse close-up view of such an intimate part of the body. The patch of dark curls, the pink labia below and the milky skin of the buttocks. Cora had purchased it in jest some years back but had grown strangely attached to it. It was a very pointed reminder of who she was, of the desires—ones that even as she contorted herself for a world that wanted to obscure her—she never denied.
“A man did it, of course,” Manuela commented, her head turned at an angle as she examined it.
Cora hid her grin on Manuela’s neck and nodded. “It was a man,” her voice muffled as she spoke. “Gustave Courbet. He painted it in 1866. It was a great scandal at the time, but I only acquired it a few years ago,” Cora explained. She wondered how Manuela would paint the same subject and found herself very eager to see it. Then she berated herself for her foolishness. After a long moment Manuela turned around, her face eager.
“Let me sketch you.”
Cora raised an eyebrow, her eyes still on the painting, and Manuela grinned. “Not just those parts of you,” she said cheekily, then slid a hand down between them and cupped Cora. “Although, it can’t be overstated how much I look forward to getting much more acquainted with them.”
Hot arousal shot through Cora as Manuela caressed her possessively. This girl, this woman, taking from her like this. No one in Paris would dare do this, but this princess helped herself to Cora’s body in a way that left her breathless. Aching with want.
“I want to draw your eyes and your nose,” Manuela said, bringing Cora’s attention back to her. “These freckles.” A thumb brushed over her cheek, and then a kiss on that spot followed. It was tender and incendiary all at once.
“I haven’t had my portrait done in a long time,” Cora admitted. “Not since Alfred was about ten years old.”
“I saw it,” Manuela said after pressing a kiss to Cora’s mouth. “It looked like John Singer Sargent.” Cora should’ve known she would guess.
