29. Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mavren
T eddy looks tired, but ridiculously pleased with himself, and Ursula looks positively radiant in her short satin robe when we get back to the villa after having been ousted from our temporary abode for the afternoon.
“I promise I won't be that much longer!” Ursula calls as she scampers through the open kitchen, grabbing a glass of water—a few rollers in her hair, a small gilded hamsa glittering against her skin; a rich olive gold from so much time spent in the sun.
I grin, thankful that I advocated for myself earlier in the day when discussing the plans for my date with Ursula with the producers.
Timmy and Kimmy had originally told me I’d be making a romantic dinner for Ursula and I using the hotel’s restaurant kitchen. They were going to shoot the dinner in a special event room, then bring us back to the villa—devoid of our other pack members, for a few hours of private time.
Making the case to cook in the villa’s more than adequate kitchen, with a more seamless transition to some evening alone time, was easier than I expected. Timmy and Kimmy vowed to make arrangements for the boys, allowing me to spend my afternoon outside the villa focused on acquiring ingredients for my private chef’s table with Ursula later this evening.
“Take your time, the boys are going to be getting out of here—and we’re going to have our own private dinner service here. I’m finally going to get to cook for you, and get to enjoy a little peace and quiet—just the two of us.” I intercept Ursula on her way back to her boudoir, my hands resting easily on the cool, slippery satin of her robe at her waist, traveling to the small of her back—massaging gently.
“That sounds heavenly,” she sighs, pressing up onto her tiptoes to kiss me on the lips.
“I can shave before dinner, too,” I laugh, running a hand over my chin, the stubble beginning to shade my jaw.
“Only if you want.” She blushes a pretty shade of rose, her golden eyes sliding away. “I kind of like the scruff, and I love a beard.”
I nuzzle the side of my face against hers and she giggles instead of chastising me for ruining her makeup. Instead, she kisses me again sweetly—before wriggling out of my grip and scampering off down the hall.
“I gotta finish getting ready—do you need me to do anything once I’m dressed?” she calls, pausing a moment before rounding the corner into the hall.
“Yeah, come show me the fit—y’know, walk the dessert cart out for me so I can get a look.” I look her up and down and lick my lips.
“Alright, ok—I can do that.” Ursula shakes her head, a funny little smile on her lips as she disappears from view.
I hear her before I see her—Ursula’s voice faint beneath the wolf whistling and fussing of the other guys through the open patio door.
I’ve left the large sliding doors to the outdoor mezzanine dining area open to the kitchen as I work, and now I can hear the motor of the van in the turnaround driveway—the boys jostling to appreciate Ursula’s look for the evening before they’re ferried off to dinner and drinks elsewhere on the property, while Ursula and I are left to appreciate some much needed alone time.
I wait until I hear the heavy front door close; the van pulling out of the drive. Once I know they’re gone—I pull the bubbly from the fridge and two delicate crystal flutes from the cabinet. I have just enough time to pop open the bottle of Cremant de Bourgogne—to serve the gently fizzing brut rose into the fine crystal before Ursula appears in the open patio door.
“Good evening, chef,” she greets me, a smug smile on her face as she watches my eyes rove slowly down her body.
Though she hadn’t ever asked my favorite color, a smart girl, Ursula had probably guessed. Her slip dress, a rich chartreuse, compliments the olive gold of her tan perfectly—her eyes like glittering citrine.
“I require a closer inspection.” I gesture for her to approach—making a comically ‘serious’ face like a television head chef about to dress down a member of his line.
Ursula pads over to me on bare feet, almost a full foot shorter than I, and stands inside my personal space—hands on the generous curve of her hips.
“If I pass, do I get to know what’s on the menu tonight?” She smirks up at me, my hands closing gently around her wrists—moving her hands from her hips to my own waist—her arms closing around me easily in an embrace—my hands caressing her shoulders, moving down her sides.
“Besides you?” I growl low, under my breath as we draw closer—my hands curving around to her lower back.
“Do I get to be the first course?” Ursula winks, her hands ferreting their way inside my half-unbuttoned shirt.
“If the goddamn producers didn’t insist on us having a bonafide date portion of this segment—I’d be making you a full 15 course Kaiseki all to myself,” I rumble, Ursula’s omega perfume hitting me in a thick, sweet wave as her body presses against mine.
“Well, sounds like we better eat our metaphorical veggies so we can cut to dessert.” Ursula grins, pressing onto her toes to peck a kiss onto my lips before she slips past me into the kitchen.
I follow her into the kitchen, pulling one of the low backed stools away from the large island, so Ursula can take a seat overlooking my work in the kitchen.
“So, how have the other dates been going?” I ask casually, though my interest is far from cursory.
Ursula lays the pad of her index finger across her full bottom lip—and I try to keep my thoughts from becoming obscene as she ponders her response.
“It’s so strange to suddenly be talking about this kind of stuff with all of you,” she begins, shaking her head—bemused. “But…everything has been really good so far. Much different than I ever expected, but also way better than I had expected, too.”
On the cutting board before me, I begin preparing fresh ginger, lemongrass, garlic—a small dish of enormous prawns beside the stove—a pan ready to begin on the nearest burner.
“Different how?” I prompt her casually, my knife working easily as we chat—those sparkling citrine eyes of hers lock on my nimble motions.
“Well, there’s this whole element.” She makes a little lasso motion with her finger before clarifying, “I end up talking with all of you—sometimes together, sometimes about one another. I know that y’all talk about me too. Not to say this is a bad thing—it’s just sort of the nature of the beast, y’know? If you want to communicate as a pack openly, it’s a lot of coordination—it’s tricky.”
I toss half of the prepared aromatics into the pan and begin shelling the prawns, nodding along with Ursula’s assessment.
“You’re not wrong there, it’s pretty complicated to hash out communication between two grown ass adults. With what? There’s six of us, right? That’s hard mode.” I toss the prawn shells into the pan along with the aromatics to start building a quick prawn broth for the appetizer.
“Then there’s the matter of how things are developing between all of you…” She lets the you —a reference to all of us guys, breathe a moment—clearly waiting for me to fill the space.
“Yeah, I feel like that’s been a little bit of uncharted territory for a bunch of us.” I hedge my response, not sure how much I should give away during this dinner that’s meant to focus on the two of us.
Ursula nods slowly, taking a sip of her bubbly—her eyes watching me carefully as I add a bit of dry white wine to the pan, my wooden spoon moving quickly to keep all the ingredients in motion.
“I don’t know how much you’ve talked with the other guys,” she dangles, the admission—this time I am all but being asked to respond with a bit more oomph, so I oblige.
“I’ve talked to Ronan a little bit,” I take in a deep breath—straining the broth from the shells and bits of spent aromatic, and returning it to the stove in a small saucepan to keep it warm as I return my newly freed saute pan to the burner, allowing it to heat before I drop a pat of butter onto its sizzling surface.
“I don’t think I’ve gotten a chance to mention, since we’ve been sucked up in the whirlwind of the reveal and the idyllic pace of island life and courting, but I actually knew Ronan before Build-A-Pack-Blind.” I begin cautiously, worried that any false move might tank the mood of the entire evening.
Ursula becomes very still, her eyes focused keenly on me, not the loud hissing of the pan as I drop the raw prawns onto the hot metal, the butter foaming—ready to perform the alchemy of turning mere ingredients into delicious food.
“Oh, really?” She does her best to remain casual, but I can see the gentle tremor in the muscle below her left eye giving her away.
“Nothing bad—not at all!” I assure her, waving one hand dismissively as I handily toss the prawns in the pan with the other—flipping them onto their alternate side. “Obviously you know now about Pomme Verte—and you’ve seen my tattoos.” I take a moment to turn my arms over—showcasing the ink. “Well, my tattoo artist introduced me to Ronan to help me figure out furnishing the restaurant with plants.”
Ursula slowly uncrosses and re-crosses her legs, one eyebrow raised—her eyes beckoning: ‘go on’.
“He and I got pretty close pretty fast,” I admit—flipping the prawns again before adding another pat of butter—slicing a fresh lemon in half and squeezing the acidic juice over the prawns—the liquid sizzles furiously in the hot pan. “I don’t think I was ready to even consider the fact that we might be more than just fast friends at the time, but once the restaurant opened and started doing a ton of business—I didn’t really have a whole lot of time to think about it. I started flaking out on our hang out sessions, stopped making plans to hang out with Ronan myself—and then he, understandably, wasn’t around anymore.” I re-introduce the prawn broth to the hot pan—allowing the prawns to luxuriate in the sauce for a few seconds before beginning to plate the appetizer in two small shallow bowls.
“I see.” Ursula nods sagely.
“He and I had been talking a bit about what things might look like in the future—being pack—what might have a chance to develop…and then there was the whole bit with Teddy and Lysander on the dance floor the other night.” I clear my throat and give her a look.
If I’m not mistaken—our little omega looks downright smug.
“I’m as surprised as anyone.” Ursula gives a noncommittal shrug.
“Surprised, sure—but you look unmistakably pleased,” I tease, sliding the shallow bowl—two prawns balanced delicately against each other in a small pool of delicate, ocean-y broth; a pinch of peppery microgreens placed atop the plump morsels.
“What can I say—I find you boys giving each other attention, almost as exciting as you showering me with attention.”
I take a moment to watch Ursula, her silverware held delicately in her hands as she cuts herself a piece of prawn and takes a bite.
Her eyes flutter closed, and she makes a small moan of pleasure as her full lips purse around that first bite.
“This is incredible Mav, it tastes like taking a bite of the ocean itself,” she sighs happily, and I realize that I could watch her eat my food all day, especially if she’s going to treat me to lewd little faces and sounds like that.
“How have the other boy’s been so far? What’s my competition looking like?” I tuck into my own plate of prawns across the counter from her—sure to replenish her crystal flute with more of the pale pink fizz.
Ursula tosses back her head with that big brassy laugh—her raven curls bouncing as her shoulders lift.
“I swear—you alphas are always turning something into a contest.” She shakes her head. “Teddy was saying something similar.” She raises her glass in my direction before taking another swig.
“That’s not an answer,” I taunt—clearing away her empty plate before I grab a small chilled dish from the freezer.
“How much detail are you looking for, Chef?” She challenges, her decolletage—dusted with fine glitter, catches the overhead lights of the kitchen—and I nearly forget to hand her the passion fruit sorbet I’ve made as a palate cleanser.
“I mean, I don’t want to be ungentlemanly—but also, I don’t mind a little imagination fodder while I’m making dinner. Since I’m forced to keep my hands off you for at least—a pasta course, a main, and a dessert/coffee service,” I sigh dramatically—drawing another bawdy laugh from Ursula. I can’t help but feel like I’ve won some kind of gold star each time she lets loose one of those big belly laughs, despite the tension of the situation.
“Well, both Ash and Teddy were certainly able to please—though I have to say that I’ve found myself to be a bit more of a tart than I realized,” Ursula sighs melodramatically—gently swirling the dregs of her cremant at the bottom of the crystal flute.
I nearly choke on my own tongue when she says, “I would have happily fucked either or both of them on our dates, but I suppose if we’re doing so many things the non-traditional way —we should at least try to keep to the standard guidelines of courtship.”
“I mean—who says we have to stand on tradition?” I cough out, dropping a handful of vibrant green pasta, infused with tangy local greens and herbs into the pot of water at a rolling boil on the stove.
“Technically…no one,” Ursula bats her lashes innocently at me—and I’m half wondering if it’s an invitation to clear the counter top in one wide sweep of my arm and fuck her right there on the counter, but before I can make any moves, her voice pipes up again—coy and sweet, “But I don’t trust myself not to beg for you or Teddy to bite me early. If I’m this crazy about all of you and I haven’t even taken one of my alpha’s knots? I’m almost scared to see what I’m going to be like once we actually get there.” She laughs it off, but I can see the trepidation in her posture—hear it in her voice as she squirms slightly on her stool.
“Point taken. I’m not sure I could be trusted either, under the current conditions,” I admit—and I’m gratified by the deep blush that paints Ursula’s cheeks.
“So, it sounds like everything’s been coming up roses, but has there been anything that’s given you pause? Made you doubt the process?” I press on, starting to build a sauce for the pasta in my saute pan—a handful of brilliant yellow chanterelle mushrooms, garlic, and butter filling the air with a rich, earthy scent.
Besides discussing our own curious history, Ronan and I have discussed the matter of Teddy Wong—how things seemed ‘off’ in the lounge, but have become less and less concerning as we’ve all started figuring out where we stand in terms of chemistry—how we all play off of one another now that we’re sharing physical space.
There’s also the broader matter of our pack’s internal structure. There are two alphas—myself and Teddy, eligible to take the place of pack lead…but there hasn’t been any discussion on the matter, and I don’t want to be the one to broach the subject with the rest of the group. Even though I myself have little to no interest in the position, I would be lying if I said that there wasn’t a little nagging scratch at the back of my brain telling me that Teddy just isn’t a viable option.
“Everything seems to be going almost too smoothly, if I’m being honest,” Ursula sighs, her head tilted thoughtfully as she watches me add a splash of expensive cognac to the pan with the mushrooms. “I’m sure that we’re due for a bit of excitement during our first mixer, though.” Her eyes widen theatrically as she finishes off the rest of her drink.
“Oh yeah? Didn’t you say your bestie from the bubbles ended up calling it quits before the reveal?” I gently toss the contents of the pan in the air and catch them once more with a gentle flick of the wrist.
“Yeah, I’m bummed that we won’t see her until they trot out all the people who didn’t make it to the island,” she pouts, reaching across the counter to grab the bottle of bubbly—her cleavage threatening to overspill the chartreuse satin of her dress’ neckline. I have to redirect my attention to the pan quickly—turning down the heat and adding the heavy cream quickly in order to keep the whole thing from becoming a burnt mess from my momentary neglect.
“Understandable.” I use a pair of tongs to pull the nest of vibrant green pasta from the boiling water—dropping it into the creamy mushroom sauce bubbling in my saute pan, doing my best to keep my eyes from wandering again.
“But, both Ash and Teddy dated Britt in the bubbles…and she’s dating Anton, who I chatted with, albeit very casually. I rejected him at the scent card exchange—so I have no idea how things are going to go when I have to face the mean girls again.” Ursula’s brow pinches—her mouth turning down in a small frown.
I decide that now is not the time to bring up my possible doubts concerning Teddy. Things had been going so well, and here I am—picking at a metaphorical scab, surprised when the healing wound starts to bleed.
“Personally, I can’t wait to show you off,” I say, in an attempt to steer conversation back to the sunnier side. “These outfits you’ve been wearing make it hard to leave the house—if we weren’t on such a regimented schedule for the show, I’m not sure any of us would have made it out the door with some of these ensembles you’ve been serving.” I flash my canines at her in a risque grin, twirling one portion of pasta into a small nest before placing it in the center of a bowl with an asymmetrical rim.
“I hope that extends to the ‘real world,’ beyond this isolated paradise.” She smiles, but her eyes twinkle with unshed tears, ever threatening to spill over.
I stop, laying my plating tweezers and the tongs I was using to spin the pasta with on the counter—my palms flat on the stone as I meet her citrine eyes with a serious gaze.
“We’re not doing our job right, as your pack, if that question is weighing on your mind. For that, I’m sorry,” I say softly, but firmly.
“No, it’s not your fault—I just—” Ursula’s breath hitches on a sob, and my feet are carrying me around the kitchen island, my hands outstretched to her as she slides off the stool.
“Hey, it’s ok.” I fold her into my arms, her head against my chest—her arms clasped around my waist. “I know that you’re not just going to get over a lifetime of people being shitty to you for how you look after two days of being on vacation with our motley crew,” I murmur softly, taking her face in my hands as she looks up at me, tears stream down her heart-shaped face. “But believe me when I say, all of us find you stunning—all of us want you,” I rasp, my own heart beat picking up its pace. “And while I can’t speak for all the other guys, I can speak for me—and I don’t give a fuck about what anyone else thinks. Not here, not at home, not anywhere.”
I take a moment to admire Ursula’s watery smile, the gentle quiver of her upturned lips—the way her long raven lashes clump together with tears and expensive mascara, the wobble of her chin; all these things that make up her beautiful face—then I press my lips to hers.
I managed to avoid any more spontaneous crying or soul bearing through the rest of our dinner—serving the pasta course a little cooler than I would have liked due to our small mood-detour. A lukewarm pasta course aside—the dinner went very well. Ursula raved about every dish, even if I was working in a new kitchen with whatever ingredients I could acquire on short notice.
Outside, the night was warm and breezy—the smell of night-blooming flowers thick in the air as we made our way out to the vast patio overlooking the coast. Ursula and I opted to make a small fire in the dish-like metal pit close to the railing—the two of us curled against one another on the outdoor sofa, watching the dance of fire and lacy seafoam play against each other; the crackling of wood and whispering of waves filling the air around us.
Without words, without any fanfare—I gently take the nearly empty crystal flute from Ursula’s hand and place it on the side table on my end of the sofa—turning to face her, tucking one of her errant raven curls behind her ear.
“Would it be tacky of me to ask if you’d like to retire to the bedroom right now?” I try for levity, but I can hear the barely leashed heat in my words as I ask them.
“Who says we have to go all the way to the bedroom?” Ursula winks at me, her hand hooking behind my neck—fingers weaving through my locs as she cradles the back of my head, drawing me down to her.
“Fair enough,” I laugh—my lips locking with hers, her tongue slipping past mine as I hold her shoulders gently in my hands.
Her scent, sweet, rich and warm pours over me; the floral rose and exotic saffron making my head swim as she leans into the kiss.
Slowly I become aware of Ursula’s hand, working its way from the space just above my knee higher and higher up my thigh. We shift, slightly awkward on the couch—until Ursula’s face suddenly pulls back from mine, her hands re-assessing their path—both palms finding their way to the firm round of my shoulders.
I’m about to ask her ‘what’s wrong’ when she takes one hand from its place, hiking her satin skirt just slightly so that its flared hem sits across her wide hips—hands finding their steadying position on each of my shoulders as she takes her new place astride my lap, facing me.
“There, that’s better,” She sighs happily, our faces drifting together once more—my hands creeping up the outsides of her thighs, under the hem of her slip dress.
“Hmmm, very cozy,” I confirm, my hands moving up over the round of her ass, my fingers skating over the lace of her cheeky cut panties—leaning into another kiss.
I can feel my cock, stiff, knot not yet formed as Ursula writhes atop me—our bodies seeking the heat, the friction of our budding desire.
I let Ursula set the pace. I’d have happily had her on the countertop over an hour ago, but as we discussed—it’s not quite the ‘right’ way to go about things in terms of courtship, especially not when we have a camera crew practically on top of us.
Since I haven’t asked for specifics in terms of what she’s done with Ash and Teddy—I don’t want to set up any kind of expectation around our explorations, but to say I’m eager to cover new ground…is an understatement.
Without warning, Ursula breaks our kiss—her lips trailing tiny kisses down the angle of my jaw, over my Adam’s apple, my collar bones; her fingers working the small wooden buttons of my shirt open as she continues her path.
I realize what she’s doing only after she’s slipped off my lap, my shirt undone, her fingers at my oversized silver belt buckle. Before I can sit up—to protest, she lifts a single finger and wags it at me.
“Ah, ah!” she scolds. “I’ve got this, chef.” She looks up at me through hooded lids, her kittenish pink tongue darting out hungrily over her lips.
I lean back, a little surprised—but pleased with the outcome nonetheless.
Ursula’s citrine eyes widen as she frees my enthusiastic erection—my hard length springing valiantly from the fly of my jeans, to nearly strike her across her perfect button nose.
My eyes force shut as she takes my cock in one hand, that perfect pink tongue ghosting across my cockhead.
“Fuck” I hiss, sucking air through my teeth as she wraps her mouth around me, taking my length deeper.
Ursula’s head bobs, and I almost jump when I feel my cock graze the back of her throat without her gagging.
“Unh, that feels good,” I moan, one of my hands reaching for the arm of the sofa—the other gently weaving its fingers through Ursula’s short, loose curls.
Encouraged, Ursula adds her hand—grip firm and steady as she strokes the length of my cock that isn’t already in her mouth and I instinctively hook my hips upward—her lips making a low buzzing vibration around my cock as I nudge the back of her throat once more.
“Ursula,” I almost gasp her name this time—my knot beginning to swell at the base of my shaft as her other hand gently cups my balls.
My cock makes an audible popping noise as it clears the ‘o’ of her lips and the delicious suction
“Mavren…” she purrs, her expression positively devilish, helping my jeans and worn boxer briefs down over my hips, past my knees giving her completely unfettered access. “I’d like to try a little something, considering the…interests budding amongst our pack.” She bats her eyelashes innocently, but my stomach can’t help but clutch nervously at what she might suggest.
“As long as it involves more of whatever you were just doing, I’m inclined to say yes,” I rumble, my hand moving lazily to my cock, making long languid strokes as I keep my eyes on hers.
“I’d like to try giving you a little prostate massage while I go down on you,” Ursula states matter-of-factly, keeping eye contact with me as she lowers onto her heels—shimmying out of her panties, rucking her skirt up over her hips—knees apart so that I can see her pink pussy dripping with slick.
I can feel my lips working, but no words come out—my eyes glued to her right index and middle fingers as she collects some of the glistening dew from her petals, that kitten tongue sweeping over her full bottom lip again.
Part of me recoils at the idea of having Ursula’s fingers inside me…but the larger, louder part of me—who wants to see what this is like—is already imagining what it would be like to have Ronan’s cock deep in my ass rather than just Ursula’s fingers.
“I can go back to what I was doing, if that’s not something you want,” she prompts me, her fingers sliding up her dripping petals to the hard bud of her clit—her eyes fluttering as she lavishes attention on the tiny bundle of nerves.
“Like I said—as long as it involves more of what you were doing.” I swallow hard, my heart hammering in my ears as Ursula lifts her slick fingers from their place between her legs.
She doesn’t need further prompting. Ursula’s mouth is on me again—her tongue swirling around my cock head as it pushes toward the back of her throat.
Her fingers are so gentle, warm and slippery with her own juices, as she begins toying with my asshole.
Without meaning to, I almost whimper as she works just the tip of her middle finger—to the first knuckle joint into my tightness. If my knot weren’t already full to bursting before, it certainly is now.
“How’s that?” she stops her sucking long enough to ask—her lips brushing against my head, glistening with saliva and pre-cum.
I don’t trust my mouth to form words right now so I just look down at her and nod fervently, a low moan escaping me as she reaches deeper, her eyes locking with mine as she takes as much of me as she can into her throat—her lips nearly touching my knot.
Ursula’s cheeks hollow, her eyes aglow like the banked embers of the fire—my hands twisted in her hair. Then, she moves her finger inside me—slippery with her slick. I feel a bolt of hot pleasure rip through me as she strokes me gently inside—my cock jumping against her soft palate—a loud sound somewhere between a moan and a growl bursting from me, unbidden.
“Oh god!” I gasp—her fingers pumping slow and deep, each glance against that sensitive place inside sending my limbs shaking—my fingers tightening their grip in Ursula’s hair—my hips bucking upward.
With one hand, she begins to grip my knot—pumping her fist over it and up my shaft, her other fingers diligently stroking ever faster.
“Fuck, Ursula—I’m gonna cum,” I manage to bite out before lurching forward—my hands fisted in her hair as she milks my prostate into her open mouth—thick ropes of cum jetting from my spasming cock across those plush, full lips.
I let out a deep groan as she shuffles off to one side of my still splayed knees, her pink tongue sweeping the opalescent seed from her lips, her thumb passing in its wake to make sure she’s gotten it all.
Ursula’s barely finished swallowing—barely finished daintily dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her fingers, when I slink liquid from my place on the outdoor couch, back into my jeans, and onto the smooth composite boards of the decking below. She looks at me quizzically—her kneeling by my side, my back against the bottom of the patio furniture.
Still not trusting my mouth to form words, I jut my chin out and nod over my shoulder to the recently vacated sofa cushion just behind my head.
Ursula’s eyes widen with understanding, then she begins to snort an incredulous laugh.
“Yeah, ok, maybe with some of the other girls you dated in the bubbles…but not with me unless you have a death wish,” she laughs.
“You’re making assumptions,” I manage to growl out—my hands reaching behind me to press against the cushion in a beckoning gesture. “Plus, I’m telling you right now—if I did somehow end up dying? This is 1000% the way I want to go out.” I grin at her, crooking my finger at her in the universal sign for come here .
“Just remember,” she sighs—hiking her skirts once more and making her way to the sofa—one knee pressing into the cushion just beside my left ear. “You asked for this!” Ursula places her other knee on the opposite side of my head—still hovering over me, unwilling to properly sit on my face.
I run my tongue along her sweet, slick petals, my lips closing around her hard, swollen clit.
“I said, sit,” I bark, using my alpha command—and she does as she’s bid—a high yelping:
“Yes, Chef!” escaping her as she fully seats my face—my mouth devouring her in earnest now.
She whines, pitchy against her ragged breaths—her hamstrings quivering and her glutes beginning to twitch as her orgasm approaches.
When Ursula cums, her thighs clamp my ears so hard that I only hear the initial wail of my name escape her lips—before all I can hear is the muted rushing sound of the ocean trapped inside a seashell.