The heavy perfection of her breasts warmed his hands. Her taut nipples pressed into the center of his palms. His head swam with a rush of raw desire. No bra.
“I think I want to do this,” he said in reply, bending until his mouth found one of those pebbled nipples in the dark.
She let out a choppy groan, burying her hands in his hair as he sucked gently on her breast.
He lingered, getting lost in the way her nipple pressed to his tongue, how it moved in his mouth with each drawing suction he made, how she moaned and fisted her hands tighter in his hair and demanded he suck harder. Harder.
He did, skimming his hands up and down her legs, her waist, her arse as he did so. Every time his palms ran over the bare cheeks of her backside, his cock pulsed. What colour was her G-string? Green like her dress? Black? No G-string at all?
Find out.
He released her nipple with a pop and lowered himself to his knees, slipping his hands down the curve of her waist to her hips as he explored the flat plane of her stomach. His lips found the shallow dip of her navel as his fingers encountered…nothing.
No lace or cotton on her hips.
He moved his lips down below her navel, nibbling on her smooth, warm skin. Her smooth, warm skin.
The curve of her smooth, warm pussy.
His cock jerked.
“Oh God, Mick,” she groaned, fingers still in his hair. “Yes…”
Pulling away a little, he looked up at her, a distant part of his pleasure-fogged brain realizing that while rain still drummed the cabin’s roof, the hail had stopped. The rest of his brain, however… “You’re not wearing underpants.”
The redundant statement fell from him on a husky breath. His cock jerked again, so fucking hard it hurt.
“Never do,” she replied, her fingers combing his damp hair back from his temples. “Got a problem with that?”
“Fuck no,” he growled before finding her labia with his thumbs, gently parting the soft folds of flesh, and stroking his tongue along the tiny bud of her clitoris.
She made a noise that almost made him blow his load. It was a raw groan of unabashed lust, surrender, and greed, and then he got lost in the taste of her. He licked at her clit, flicked it over and over with the tip of his tongue. She fisted her hands in his hair and drove her hips forward, grinding her sex to his mouth.
“Sì, sì,” Zeta gasped, holding his head harder to the junction of her thighs. “Non fermati. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. No way in hell was he going to stop until she came, until she screamed his name.
He parted her labia lips a little more with his thumbs and sucked her clit, teasing it with his tongue as he did so.
She shuddered, her thighs shook, and she let out that same carnal noise. Blood rushed into his cock, engorging it completely. He couldn’t wait to bury it deep inside her, to have her inner muscles grip him, slide up and down it… But not until he made her come with his mouth first. He wanted to make her erupt, to give her so much pleasure her knees collapsed.
He laved her slit with hungry swipes of his tongue, cupping and kneading the sublime curves of her arse cheeks before slipping the tip of his tongue as deep into her wetness as he could.
“Sí, Mick,” she groaned, rolling her hips into his mouth. “Non fermati, non fermati.”
Stopping was the last thing he was going to do. He lapped her up, tasted her, gave himself over completely to the salted sweetness of her pleasure.
“Oh, Mick.” Her nails scraped against his scalp. Her moan caressed his senses. “Oh God, Mick… Mick… Oh God, Mick…” She fisted her hands tight in his hair, slamming her hips forward. A shudder rocked her. Her belly hitched. “Mick!”
He growled into her climax, squeezing her arse, tonguing her clit over and over.
She bucked again and again, and then, as he slowed his licking strokes down, she released her grip on his hair and staggered back a step.
“Oh wow,” she rasped.
He looked up, barely able to see her in the darkness, and smiled. His whole body ached with a need beyond carnal, beyond elemental. “Just so you know, I’m takingoh wowas a compliment.”
She laughed, the sound throaty.