Chapter 16 #2
She’s close again. I can feel it in the way her body tightens, in the way her cries become higher, more desperate. Her thighs start to tremble around my hips.
My thumb moves faster, working her clit in tight circles as my fingers continue their hard, deep strokes. The pleasure builds and builds until she’s arching her back, her whole body tense, a beautiful, desperate bow waiting for release.
My name is a strangled cry on her lips.
"Let go, Doctor," I murmur against her ear, my tongue tracing the sensitive shell of it before I nibble on it. "Come on my fingers. Come on my hand." I punctuate each word with a hard, deep thrust.
Her fingers tug on my hair, pulling me back to her mouth. Her teeth scrape my lower lip, a sharp bite that makes me groan. I can taste her need, her desperation. Her tongue slides into my mouth, tangling with mine, as if she can't get enough.
I meet her intensity, our kiss becoming a chaotic, urgent tangle of teeth and tongues, our breaths mingling, our bodies moving in a desperate rhythm.
Her hands scramble at my back, her nails digging through my shirt and scraping against my skin.
The slight sting of it only fuels the fire roaring through me.
My own control is a frayed thread, snapping with every sound she makes, every desperate movement of her body against mine. Every part of me is screaming to take her, to bury myself inside her and claim her completely.
But I hold on. Barely.
"Vito," she whimpers against my lips, her hips bucking wildly. "Vito, I—"
Her back bows off the post, and her inner muscles clamp down on my fingers. The orgasm rips through her, violent and beautiful, as she shatters in my arms.
A ragged sob tears from her throat, and her nails dig in, and I'm almost sure she's drawn blood. The slight sting sends another jolt through my already throbbing erection.
I hold her tight, pinning her to the post as the waves of pleasure crash over her, my fingers still buried deep inside her, my thumb still stroking her clit, drawing out every last drop of her release.
She rides the waves, her body trembling, her hips still moving in small circles against my hand, as I work her through it, drawing out every last bit of her pleasure until she collapses against me, her body limp and spent, her head resting on my shoulder.
Her breathing is a series of ragged, uneven pants against my neck.
Her whole body is trembling, her legs still locked around my waist, but her grip has loosened.
For a long moment, I just stand there, holding her. The sounds of the night rush back in—the crash of the waves in front of us, the rustle of the palms, the distant call of a night bird. The beat of my own heart in my ears.
The air is warm and salty against my sweat-damp skin. She's soft and pliant in my arms, her hair a silky mess against my cheek, her scent surrounding me—soap, light sweat, the faint tang of the sea, and the smell of her arousal.
Slowly, her tremors subside, and I can feel strength gathering in her body again.
I carefully slide my fingers from her, and she shudders at the loss, moaning lightly against my neck. My hand comes away slick with her juices.
She stirs, her head lifting from my shoulder, but she makes no attempt to get down. She leans back against the wooden post, her chest heaving still. Her eyes are dazed, unfocused for a moment before they find mine.
They're as dark as the night sea, and they're looking at me in a way I’ve never seen before.
There's no analysis in them, no psychological observation.
There is only raw need. A mirror to the fire burning inside me.
Her hair is a disaster, her lips are swollen, her skin is flushed. She is breathtaking. She looks like a goddess who has just been thoroughly worshiped.
I lift my glistening fingers to my mouth, my eyes never leaving hers, and taste that sweet pussy as I lick each finger clean one by one.
Her gaze drops from my eyes to my lips, and her breath hitches. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, a small, unconscious gesture that mirrors mine.
And that's all it takes.
What little restraint I have left shatters into a million pieces. I don't bother to set her down. I carry her to the opening of the cabana and duck under the billowing curtains.
The inside is lit only by some string lights hung along the thatched roof, casting a glow over everything.
There's a large, round daybed piled with what seems to be a thousand pillows, a throw blanket draped over the side.
There's a small table on the other side, and next to it, a stand with a lit lamp.
I stride over to the daybed and drop her onto it. She bounces slightly on the soft cushions. I grab the material of her skirt in my fist and yank it down her legs, toss it over my shoulder somewhere, leaving her in nothing but that flimsy ass bra and those soaked panties.
Not for long.
I reach down and, in two quick yanks, tear the bra and panties off her. Her breasts, now free, spill out as she sprawls back on the cushion. Her rosy nipples, hard and beaded, beg for my attention.
My gaze rakes over her, and I take a moment to just... look.
I memorize the sight of her lying there, her hair spread out like a dark halo on the white pillows, her lips parted, her chest still rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.
From her kiss-swollen lips down to her perfect full breasts, the dip of her waist, the curve of her hips, her long legs, the damp skin between her thighs.
I take it all in, imprinting every curve onto my memory.
My dick throbs, a painful reminder of my own desperate need.