40. Chapter Forty - Breathless Weight
The world tilted the moment he touched me.
He shifted me with the kind of strength that still surprised me, even now, easing me back onto the cold glass of the table like it was the most natural spot for me.
The chill sank into my skin, sharp and grounding, pulling me back to the moment.
Breakfast lay spread around me, half pushed aside: flaky pastries, warm fruit mixes, honey-drizzled bread, their rich scents tugging at my senses.
But once my eyes met his, none of that pulled me in anymore.
The way he looked at me blotted out everything else, a hunger in him that felt different, as though he were set on cherishing every bit of me rather than just taking what he wanted.
“Shit,” I whispered, the word slipping out as he spread my thighs apart with ease, his hands slow and possessive, as if he weren’t asking permission because he already knew the answer.
The coolness of his fingers against my inner thighs made me shiver, the reaction sharp enough to send a rush of heat through me that left my toes curling.
He wasn’t just looking at me… He was taking me in, lingering, basking, like the sight alone was enough to feed him.
“Allow me to feast on this for breakfast,” he growled, his voice low and dark, as he lowered himself to his knees between my legs.
I sucked in a breath as he tugged me closer, sliding the dress up and over my ass. Morning light caught on the slickness between my legs that was already there, already betraying me. I trembled, not with fear, but with an aching anticipation that settled deep in my bones.
I reached for something, anything, to clutch onto.
There was no tablecloth, no edge to grip, nothing but smooth, unforgiving glass beneath me.
So I turned inward, my hands sliding up to my chest, fingers curling around my breasts as I squeezed, settling myself into the sensation.
“Culv,” I moaned, my hips lifting toward him without conscious permission, offering everything I could.
And then my eyes flicked toward the doorway. Two maids stood there, frozen in place, watching.
“Hold on,” I gasped, scrambling to pull air into my lungs. “There’s—”
“Get out,” he commanded.
His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried, final and absolute. They vanished without a word, doors shutting quickly, footsteps retreating until the house swallowed them whole.
Before I could gather another thought, before I could fully process what had just happened, he buried his face between my thighs.
The first touch of his tongue made me cry out, the sound torn from me before I could soften it.
He started slowly, tasting and claiming me, the sensation shooting straight through me, lighting every nerve ending as if he’d flipped a switch.
My thighs locked around his head on instinct, my body reacting faster than my mind as his tongue circled, flicked, and explored with a precision that felt almost unreal.
I moaned loudly, shamelessly, the sound echoing through the room.
I didn’t care if the entire household heard.
I didn’t care about anything except the ravenous way he was devouring me right there on the breakfast table.
My hands slid into his hair, fisting into the dark strands and pulling him closer as he sucked and slurped, taking everything I gave him without restraint.
I could feel his hunger. Not just physical, but something deeper, the way he tasted everything: not only my slick, but also the trace of blood, the salt of sweat, every raw, real part of me.
He moaned into me like it was heaven, like he had never tasted anything so divine in his long existence.
His tongue circled my clit slowly, torturously, dragging the sensation out until my back arched and my breath shattered.
Then he dipped lower, deeper, sliding inside me, and the sound that tore from my mouth was louder, broken, and uncontrollable, my head falling back while my body twisted against the glass.
The cold didn’t even register anymore as his tongue moved inside me with a knowing, relentless rhythm, like it had found its place.
He had me fully and completely.
My breaths came in short, broken bursts, airy little sounds I couldn’t stop as his mouth worked me open and worked me apart.
Any bit of embarrassment I’d carried faded away, maybe because he’d drawn it out of me with every pass, stripping back layers until there was just a raw openness between us.
My hips rocked on instinct, chasing friction, chasing heat, chasing the sharp edge of something feral that had been coiled inside me all along.
If I’d had any idea he could unravel me like this with nothing but his mouth, I’d have handed myself over a hundred times before.
I would have had no second thoughts, legs open and ready, calling it whatever felt right in the moment.
His hands tightened on my thighs, fingers digging into the soft curves just above my knees, dragging me closer, holding me exactly where he wanted me.
I whimpered sharply as his fingertips brushed the bruises he’d left the night before.
They were tender reminders of how hard he’d taken me, how completely he’d claimed my body.
The sting blended with the pleasure. It was all tangled together now, pain and euphoria pulling into a single knot that tightened with every movement of his tongue.
I was close. So close, my vision blurred at the edges, the room dimming and sharpening all at once. My body coiled tight, every muscle straining toward release, toward surrender. And just as the tremor started, just as I tipped toward the edge—
The door creaked open.
The sound cut through me, loud enough that my eyes flew open and my breath lodged painfully in my chest. My mouth opened in a startled gasp, the scream caught halfway out as my gaze locked onto the doorway.
Rupert and Soroush.
They walked in like it was ordinary. They crossed the threshold as if they’d wandered into a sitting room, not a dining space where I was bare and spread open, my body trembling on the edge of release.
Rupert whistled softly.
“Finally,” he said, his voice smooth with amusement, lips curling as his gaze swept over the scene without shame or apology. “My dear brother takes what’s his.”
My stomach flipped, heat and mortification colliding in a dizzy rush as he moved closer…
unhurried, unbothered. He sniffed the air, sharp and distinctly not human, and I knew he could scent everything: the slick warmth between my legs, the lingering trace of blood, the way my body was already breaking apart beneath his brother’s mouth.
It should have made me recoil, sent panic through me, and made my legs snap shut while I scrambled for something resembling dignity.
But Culver didn’t stop. Not even for a second.
His tongue never faltered, never broke rhythm, as if Rupert’s presence didn’t exist at all.
As though my pleasure mattered more than decorum, more than family, more than the fact that I had an audience.
The realization alone made my breath stutter.
He was choosing my release over every expectation I’d ever been taught to respect.
A raw moan tore from my throat, my fingers tightening in his dark hair as I tried to anchor myself, my body betraying me completely. “Culv, wait,” I gasped, my voice thin and desperate as my eyes darted between him and Rupert. But there was nothing restrained in him now. It was just hunger.
I tried to push him back, my feet bracing against his shoulders as I strained, but my thighs shook violently, the effort useless.
The pleasure had built up too much; it felt overwhelming, right there on the brink, and no matter how my mind raced with sudden worry, my body just wouldn’t go along with it.
Instead, it pushed me toward craving even more of what he was giving.
And Rupert didn’t look away.
He seated himself with exaggerated ease, elbow resting on the table, cheek propped in his hand like he was settling in for entertainment.
His smirk widened, satisfied and unapologetic.
Beside him, Soroush sat more quietly, his phone still in his hand, though his attention clearly wasn’t on the screen.
His eyes lifted in brief, stolen glances, catching every way my hips moved, every rise and fall of my chest, the shameless, obscene arch of my body as Culver held me open like it was his rightful place.
“Culv—” I whimpered, my voice cracking under the strain, saliva slicking my lips as I struggled to hold back the inevitable. “I’m cumming—”
And then I wasn’t holding back anything anymore.
The release crashed through me in a blinding rush, white-hot and overwhelming, tearing a raw scream from my chest as my legs locked around his head.
My body convulsed, slick warmth spilling as I squirted, the sensation so intense it felt like it split me open from the inside.
I cried out without restraint, riding the wave as my thighs trembled violently.
Culver didn’t pull away. Instead, a low, guttural rumble vibrated through him, satisfied and feral, as he lapped it all up, drinking from me as if this were exactly what I had been made for.
When he finally lifted his head, I was shaking, every nerve ending raw and exposed, my body slack and useless in the aftermath.
I panted, flushed, and utterly undone, barely aware of where I was anymore.
He, on the other hand, looked perfectly steady, a calm smugness settling over his features.
His face was streaked with slickness, faintly marked with blood and release, and the sight of it sent a dizzy pulse through my already overstimulated body.