Chapter 3 #2
He peels the fabric up inch by torturous inch, exposing the gentle swell of my stomach, the deep dip of my waist, the full undersides of my breasts still cradled in lace. The shirt drops away. His gaze follows the path his hands just traced, drinking in every curve like he’s memorizing scripture.
I start to cross my arms out of habit, but he catches my wrists gently, pinning them beside my head with one large palm.
“Don’t hide from me, Tilly.” His voice is low.
“Every soft inch of you is perfect. Look at this beautiful stomach, so full, so fucking lush.” His free hand glides up the rounded plane of my stomach, fingers splaying wide to savor the give beneath his touch.
“I could spend hours just feeling how soft you are here… how you were made to be touched like this.”
Heat floods my face, my chest. He releases my wrists only to slide both hands beneath the band of my bra, thumbs stroking the tender skin along my ribs before he unhooks the clasp with one deft motion. The lace falls away. Cool air kisses my breasts, making my nipples draw even tighter.
He exhales roughly. “God, look at you.” He cups one breast in each hand, lifting their heavy weight, letting them spill over his palms. “So full… so perfect in my hands.” His thumbs sweep slow circles around the areolas, teasing without touching the peaks yet.
“These curves deserve to be worshiped, sweetheart.”
When his mouth finally closes over my left nipple, the wet heat is devastating.
He sucks gently at first, tongue licking the sensitive bud in lazy spirals, then firmer, drawing it deep, letting his teeth graze just enough to send sparks racing down my spine.
My back bows off the bed; a broken moan spills out.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice vibrating through me. “Let me hear how good it feels. Let me hear what my mouth does to your gorgeous tits.”
He switches sides, lavishing the other nipple with the same slow devotion, so many long, wet pulls, soft flicks of his tongue, the occasional gentle scrape of teeth that makes my hips jerk.
His hands never stop moving: kneading the soft flesh, tracing the gentle slope where breast meets rib, thumbs brushing the sensitive crease underneath until I’m trembling, thighs pressing together against the growing ache in my pussy.
By the time he lifts his head, both nipples are flushed dark and glistening, and I’m shaking beneath him.
His palm skates down my stomach again, fingers dipping into the soft roll above my navel, pressing there like he loves the way it yields. “This part of you drives me wild,” he confesses, voice thick. “So plush… so womanly. I want to kiss every curve, Tilly. Every single one.”
He reaches the button of my jeans and pauses, eyes lifting to mine.
“Yes,” I breathe before he can speak. “Please, Davin. I need—”
He doesn’t let me finish. The zipper rasps down; together we shove denim and lace over my hips. He drags everything off slowly until I’m bare beneath him. Then he sits back on his heels between my parted legs and simply looks.
His gaze traces me from flushed cheeks to the heavy swell of my breasts, the rounded softness of my stomach, the generous flare of my hips, the fullness of my thighs. His hands follow, palms gliding up the outside of my legs, thumbs stroking the sensitive inner skin, then settling on my hips.
“Open for me, darling.” The words are quiet. “Let me see all of you.”
My knees fall apart on a shaky exhale.
“Good girl.” His voice is pure gravel. “Look at how beautiful you are like this, spread out, soft and wet and perfect for me. These thighs…” His hands slide higher, fingers digging gently into the plush flesh, spreading me wider.
“So thick, so fucking gorgeous. I want them wrapped around my waist one day, but right now I just want to taste what’s waiting for me. ”
He lowers himself, shoulders forcing my thighs even farther apart until the stretch burns sweetly. His hot breath ghosts over my pussy, making me clench before his mouth has even touched me.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, lips brushing my inner thigh. “Tell me to stop and I will. Always.”
“I won’t,” I whisper. “I need this. I need you.”
His tongue touches me first in broad, flat, slow strokes, gliding from entrance to clit in one long, savoring lick. My hips lift on instinct; a choked sound tears from my throat.
He groans against me, the vibration sinking deep. “You taste like heaven, Tilly. Lush and rich and mine.” Then he settles in to worship.
He holds me open with strong hands on my thighs, thumbs stroking the tender crease of my upper thigh while his tongue works my pussy with devastating patience.
Long licks, teasing circles around my clit, gentle suction that pulls soft whimpers from me.
When my hips start to rock, he pins them down gently, forcing me to feel every deliberate stroke, every slow swirl.
Pleasure coils tighter and tighter. My hands fist the sheets; my breath comes in ragged gasps.
“Davin—please—”
“Come for me, beautiful.” His lips brush my clit as he speaks. “Let me feel these gorgeous thighs shake around my face. Let me taste how good I make you feel.”
He flattens his tongue, pressing in hard, relentless circles, and the wave breaks.
My back arches off the bed; pleasure detonates in pulsing, white-hot bursts.
I cry out, unashamed, my hips jerking against his steady hold as he works me through every trembling aftershock, tongue softening but never stopping until I’m oversensitive and pushing weakly at his shoulders.
He rises slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, dark, satisfied eyes locked on mine, still burning. “Good?”
I can only nod, chest heaving. Words are gone.
He crawls back up my body, careful not to crush me, and takes my mouth in a slow, deep kiss. The taste of myself on his tongue is raw, intimate, overwhelming. I clutch at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, deeper.
When he finally eases back, he reaches for the blanket and draws it over us both, cocooning us in warmth.
“Rest now,” he murmurs against my temple.
He pulls me against his chest, tucking my head beneath his chin, and for the first time in years, I feel completely, gloriously seen.
I sink into his warmth, my body heavy and sated in a way I didn’t know was possible. His hand strokes my spine in slow passes, and the steady thump of his heartbeat under my ear lulls me into drowsy contentment.
“You didn’t have to hold back,” I whisper against his chest.
“I wanted to.” His arm tightens around me. “Watching you let go, hearing you say my name like that… that’s what I needed.”
The words settle warm in my stomach. Outside the window, snow continues to fall in thick curtains, and the storm shows no sign of stopping. We’re trapped here together. As unfamiliar as it seems, being stuck doesn’t feel like a problem.
It feels like exactly where I’m supposed to be.