Bambalina’s Epilogue #2
He raises his gaze to the ceiling then lowers it back to me with a heavy sigh. “No, it was too fucking good, Lina. I would have come in minutes if I hadn’t stopped you, and then I wouldn’t have been able to fuck you from behind like I’d planned.”
I gasp. “From behind?”
We haven’t done that before. In truth, we’ve kept things quite vanilla up to now, being led more by my teenage fantasies than his experience.
As I lay back, he pops the cork out of the wine bottle and takes a long swig. When he lowers his lips to mine, he tastes of dark cellars and sophistication. My eyes drift shut as I savor the taste of him, so when a cold dribble lands on my chest, I almost bounce off the bed.
His warm palm presses me into the comforter, then he bends his head and licks up the wine. My nipples either side of his sweeping tongue stiffen in anticipation. Another dribble works its way down my stomach to my naval. He closes his mouth over me and slurps it up.
My pussy is throbbing now, impatiently, wet for his attention.
When a dribble runs down the side of my waist, I gasp and grip the comforter in two curled fists.
Watching his dark hair maneuver around my body, enraptured by the wine leaking trails all over my skin, makes me ache with desire.
How can a man so beautiful, so powerful and so obsessed with my pleasure, be all mine?
“Nicolò,” I whisper through a sigh. “I need you.”
He sucks up another trail of wine, this one running over my right nipple, making me almost translucent with lust. “I’m right here, little fawn.”
“N-no. Inside me. I need you inside me, now.”
He finishes licking another dribble of wine then straightens his elbows, shooting a dark, serious stare into my eyes.
“Turn over.”
I do as he says and roll on to my stomach.
Gently, he hooks his fingers into the crevice of my hips and pulls me up to my knees. When he moves away it’s only for a second, then my journal lands heavily by my arm.
“I want you to write about this,” he says.
I turn to look over my shoulder. “Right now?”
He nods, a hundred percent serious, and a bolt of excitement shoots through my core.
Shoving my knees apart he angles his cock at my entrance.
“Start writing, baby.”
Oh, dear God, where do I start?
Resting on my elbows with my ass in the air, I click the pen and press the nib to a new page.
I’m on all fours, my bare ass canted out, completely naked. Nicolò’s cock is right there, at my entrance.
“At your pussy, little fawn,” Nicolò corrects, looking over my shoulder. “‘Entrance’ is pedestrian. It does not do this beautiful, wet, soft cunt justice.”
My eyes burn at the ‘c’ word but I dutifully cross out ‘entrance’ and write ‘pussy.’
His cock is harder than I’ve ever felt it, entering me inch by inch. He stops, pauses, takes a breath, then pushes in further. I’m almost full of him. He takes another breath, grips his fingers around my hips and pulls me onto the rest of his length.
Feeling him so deep inside me takes my breath away.
When he remains still, I can feel the veins along his cock pulsing softly. It lights up everywhere inside me.
He starts to move, drawing his cock halfway out, then pushing back in smoothly. Every time he reaches my hilt, I feel like I can’t breathe.
As his thrusts become deeper and harder, my hair falls over the page. But before I can push it away, he’s wrapping it around his fist. He uses it to tug me backward onto him, thrusting at a new angle.
Each time he fills me, a part of my insides sings. His cock rubs against it, over and over. Getting faster now. I move in time with him, wanting the feeling to build.
“Fucking hell, babe,” Nicolò pants behind me. “This is so hot. Keep writing.”
I let out a breath like I’ve been running, and return to the page. It’s getting harder to focus and harder to keep moving my pen, but I want to record this moment.
He smooths a hand down my spine and around the curve of my ass, then slips it between my legs.
“Fuck, Nicolò—” I gasp.
“You like that, little fawn?”
I swallow hard and continue.
He plays with my clit, stroking it soft, then hard, making it wet and slippery. He fucks me harder, then strums me with a thumb. I can barely…
The bed is hitting the wall.
I can’t get my breath.
His cock feels so good, and oh God, I’m going to come.
I’m c————
The pen slides off the page and I’m coming so hard.
Nicolò drives into me thick and fast, nailing me into the comforter. He thumbs my clit, making me clench around him tightly, then he comes too.
Both of us cry out. My scream rattles through the bed sheets while his perforates the air. And he just keeps fucking me, every spasm from him setting off new convulsions until my knees can’t hold me up any longer.
When I finally stop shaking, he lowers me to my stomach and settles over my back. I love feeling his weight on top of me.
His breath brushes the shell of my ear. “I can’t fucking think,” he whispers.
I smile. “So don’t.”
A few minutes pass and he shifts to the side, wrapping me up into his arms. “That was another level,” he says, finally.
“And to think writing has never even been my forte,” I grin.
He rolls his eyes and presses his lips to my forehead. “If that isn’t your forte, I can’t wait to see what is.”
I prop my weight on one elbow, a mischievous glint in my eye. “How do you feel about performing in front of a camera?”
His brows lift. “You want to film me?”
I dip my gaze, bashfully. “Maybe I could film us?”
He leans in, finally understanding. “You mean like, a sex tape?”
I shrug one shoulder while he tilts his gaze to the ceiling. I follow it, wondering what’s so fascinating up there, because he does that a lot.
Then he releases a long, satisfied sigh and looks back at me, shaking his head. “I must have been a fucking saint in a former incarnation, because life couldn’t get any better than this.”
Then he pushes his hands through the hair at my nape, just the way I like it, and pulls me onto his lips.