Chapter 30 #2
All fears and anxieties he had about venturing into the Icthian unknown were left behind as he chased that note. He wanted more, more of those sweet noises. More of whatever made her hips buck. More of everything.
“Take them off,” she demanded.
Her voice was nearly a growl, and he obeyed instantly. As he pulled the fabric down — off her beautiful, slightly shimmering skin — he almost gasped. Her panties had just the slightest glimmer of something heavenly and wet where it had pressed against her sex.
God, she’s perfect.
He kneeled before her as she sat up on the bench, her back to the wall, and her delicious everything on full display.
With a graceful movement he was far too mystified to appreciate, she rested both her legs on his shoulders.
Her strong and supple thighs engulfed his periphery, and all he could see was her delicate and barely spread cleft in front of him.
“Fia…” he breathed, his lips dragging along her inner thigh, ever closer to that mound of skin and slick that he swore he could already taste on his tongue.
“Only touch, first,” she purred, her own hands sliding down to frame the target of his obsession.
Her fingers parted her flesh, ever so slightly. He could see the tiniest strands of something sticky, wet, and almost pearlescent stretch between the silky skin as she moved. He had to taste her. He had to know.
But she said just to touch first. And he was very good at following instructions.
He slid his thumb slowly from the peak of her cleft downwards. How she managed to spread even more beneath the gentle pressure was a marvel that drew him in. His thumb sank into the wet softness, and the growling moan that rumbled from her throat nearly capsized his self-control.
He was searching for the equivalent to that epitome of nerves and pleasure that rested at the apex of every pussy he had, so far, encountered.
And while that list was short, burying his face in it was something he was confidently adept at.
Or at least, he was very good at following directions while doing so.
This was the first time he had been inside an Icthian, though, and he was fascinated and desperate to touch more. To taste more. To know what it felt like to be buried in her. To make her come.
The orange-pink waves of her skin let him in with ease as he ever so gently spread her, drinking in the sight of every inch of her she would give to him.
The warm flesh of her pussy was almost translucent, so much so that he could see her pulse.
He could see the tiny quivers that matched the beat of her heart.
He hungrily sank in deeper until he had plunged both of his thumbs flush to the base of his palm.
The sounds that were coming from her throat began as excited gasps before they bloomed into low, rumbling groans of need.
She pulled him closer to her with her legs, and he dutifully obliged her wordless request with rhythmic, slow strokes.
With every push in, he watched with rapt attention as his prying digits were steadily coated with an almost iridescent and warm slickness that he was, literally, aching to taste. Not just his cock throbbing. That was a given. His mouth was watering. He had to savor her.
“Please, Fi, I need to do so much more than touch,” he pleaded, his breath ragged and tinged with far more desperation than he wanted to let on.
Neediness was always his undoing, but he couldn’t help but be honest about his appetite for her right now.
If he could, he would drown himself in her.
In everything. The sights, the sounds, even the scents.
Her soft, heady musk that he could almost feel fogging his brain with every breath.
It triggered a deep-seated primal instinct to fuck, fill, feed, fawn, and fuck again.
“Your tongue,” she purred. He momentarily pried his eyes off his new favorite place in the universe to look into her fierce gaze. “Show me your tongue, eager boy.”
He obliged, and he watched as she slid her fingers along her own tongue, pulling them free from her lips with a satisfying popping noise.
As she did, he noticed they were coated with something that looked thicker than saliva.
Something that caught the light strangely.
Not dissimilar to what was leaking from her cunt, down his fingers.
The very thing that he wanted to devour.
Fuck, I’m drooling.
He stayed there, watching her with heat in his eyes that he swore would sear his mind into useless ash.
“Do you know what this is?” she asked, and he shook his head.
He could feel her cunt tense around his fingers, and he nearly buckled. It sounded familiar, but any Teelish biology lessons he had taken were in the part of his brain that he had left on the floor when he peeled her clothes off.
“It is verilla. In rare circumstances, if we are in a state of arousal, it appears in our saliva, our blood, our…” she trailed off, smiling wickedly.
With her fingers slick with the mysterious shimmering wetness, she moved them to hover just a few inches out of reach of his tongue.
“It may be addictive, so if you do not want to risk—”
He pulled her fingers into his mouth as he slid another digit into her. She let out a surprised laugh that melted into a carnal groan as she watched him suck the taste of her tongue off her fingers.
Perhaps he was already drowning in the need and the heat of the moment, but he couldn’t discern a particular flavor.
He could just feel something. A tingle that bloomed on his tongue before it spread through all of his skin and sank down to his cock.
It pulsed with a throb that almost made it feel as if she had squeezed his shaft herself. It was brief, fleeting, and dangerous.
“Tell me,” she purred, as his eyes followed the path where she slid her fingers. Right. Between. Her legs. “What is your favorite word for this?”
Heaven. Home. Where you should bury me, both literally and metaphorically.
“Pussy. Or cunt, or … anything, everything,” he gasped.
She grinned, staying just beyond the reach of his tongue, and he damn near whimpered in response.
“Please, let me…” he begged, his untouched cock aching as he drank in the beautiful sight of her splayed sex before him.
“Start here with your tongue. Keep it flat and soft against my cunt. Slowly,” she ordered.
He dipped forward to where she led him, but paused with an obedient halt as she clicked her tongue.
“If you become too eager, or move too fast, I will make you watch as I pleasure myself. Without your touch or tongue. Understood?” she asked, her words mingled with breathy noises of pleasure as she tensed around him.
He nodded enthusiastically, and the moment he opened his mouth to reply, he was pulled against the peak of her soft cleft. His lips met the warmth, and instantly his tongue explored with intentionally constrained devotion.
The taste was indescribable.
Words could not capture the raw, primal taste of her sex. It was skin, sweat, mind-melting musk, all blended in the emotions of the act. He was granted the highest honor: to worship the most delicate part of her body. And while he believed in no gods, at this altar, he would be a pious, pious man.
Her fingers were coiled in the hair at the back of his head, and he yielded to her guidance.
He would be a dutiful, willing vessel for her pleasure.
He spread his tongue flat, giving her every inch he could offer of the soft and wet muscle for her to grind against. With a growling moan, she pressed back into him, and he almost came apart at the seams.
Whatever this verilla was, he wanted to milk every single drop of it from her sweet cunt. It seeped into his nerves, mirroring the sensations he was giving her, as if a tongue was sliding along and around his own cock in time with his movements.
As she bucked against his mouth, he slowly replaced his two thumbs with his middle and ring fingers of his right hand, freeing his left hand to knead and clutch at every inch of her body he could reach.
Her thighs, her stomach, down the soft line of her wrist, everything he could find purchase on.
Anything she would let him touch. He wanted to take everything she would give him.
The slightest nudge of firm flesh beneath his own tongue matched the stiffness between his legs. The spot that Fia had been urging him to grind into with his delving tongue was firming, throbbing under his ministrations.
It was similar to the bulb of arousal he sought when he had eagerly devoured pussy before, but hers was just foreign enough for him to feel a novel thrill of surprise.
It felt almost like a plump, round, upside-down heart: two gently pulsing beads of throbbing flesh he could not only lick and suck, but spread.
He dragged his tongue up and between them, reveling in her sounds of approval.
“lsuir’a…”
The word reverberated through his skull, and he felt her pulse around his slowly thrusting fingers. He had no idea what it meant, but he didn’t dare change his movements, keeping his dutiful slow strokes with his tongue paced in time with her bucking hips.
He could feel that exquisite shimmering verilla tingling on his tongue, and it reverberated the sensation in his own leaking cock. Every taste elicited a helpless buck into the air as he throbbed against the fabric barely containing him.
She was saying something, a desperate-sounding string of words in Teelish that he could barely parse. Though he might not understand the syntax, the meaning was universal: she was close, dangerously close, and she pinned her legs against his shoulders to hold him wholly flush against her.
Any attempts to breathe were in brief gasps, and only granted when his tongue could elicit a spasm from her and drive her to arch and writhe enough to bless him with air.
Fuck it, this is a great way to die.
He felt his own heart thundering in protest of not enough oxygen, paired with the indulgent ecstasy of hearing his own name uttered in a tangle of Icthian words he assumed roughly translated to “Oh fuck, yes, please, more, I’m gonna—”
His own limit was approaching fast, and while he was bucking uselessly against nothing but the fabric of his own underwear and empty air, the taste of her alone had already brought him halfway to climax.
Her fingers tensed in his hair, and her desperate bucking slowed to a few shuddering, ragged pulses along his tongue.
Green lights along her scales flickered in a pulsing pattern that matched the rhythm of his touch. Her powerful muscles tensed, throbbed, and dragged him deeper. She rode his face with a few final, determined thrusts before he claimed what he had been chasing.
The flood of her taste against his tongue, that indulgent and addictive magic that glittered in her slick that drilled into his very nervous system, the throb of her tensing cunt bearing down on his fingers — it all combined into a wave that crashed down and broke him, wholly.
The sinful sound and sensations drew him shuddering and panting into his own peak.
His body nearly collapsed into hers as his pulsating and untouched cock throbbed and spilled every drop he had.
He was shaking, his legs weak, and the warmth of her skin threatened to pull him under.
But she lifted him, held him. Nestled him to rest in the curve of her neck.
The slightest trace of the tips of her claws made slow passes down his back, a tiny sparkling sensation amidst the heady darkness of the afterglow.
This wasn’t just need and wanton lust. It wasn’t just the potent magic of her verilla. She was a safe harbor, a place where he felt wanted. That feeling was what he was truly at risk of being addicted to.