Chapter 19 #2
“How do you want me?” Zanta’s voice was low, almost a whisper. Nia rolled her hips again. Her pupils were wide in the dim light, almost entirely engulfing the beautiful green.
“I want”—another roll of the hips—“your fingers. Please.” The words kindled in Zanta’s core, spurring her to action.
She slipped a hand down Nia’s leg and found the rumpled hem of her skirts.
She hitched them up Nia’s thigh, realizing too late that her hands were still dirty from the battle when her fingers left a smudge of gunpowder on the silken fabric of Nia’s stocking.
“Fuck.” Zanta couldn’t use her fingers on Nia when they were grimy like this, but she didn’t want to leave and find some place to wash them. Well, there was no other option. Her gaze flicked up to Nia’s. “Bad news, princess, my hands are dirty. You’ll have to make do with my mouth instead.”
A shiver ran through Nia’s body. She already looked debauched, and Zanta had barely even touched her yet.
Zanta wanted to rip the pretty, pastel dress from her voluptuous curves and see the glory of her bareness.
Her decadent sensuality that she wore so confidently for all to see.
But here, leaning up against the inside of the wardrobe with her hair spilling out of its pins, her skirt up and her eyelashes still wet, her true wanton need shone like a beacon, and Zanta desperately wanted to taste it for herself.
“Please,” Nia gasped, and Zanta didn’t wait for further permission. With one last kiss to Nia’s breast, Zanta lowered herself between Nia’s legs. The sword at her belt thunked against the decking as she shifted.
Nia’s aroused heat almost took her breath away.
She mouthed at the stretch of bare thigh between Nia’s stocking and underwear, her fingers tracing beneath the garter that held the stocking up.
Nia spread the other leg wider, making room for Zanta’s shoulders.
Bumps raised on her skin as Zanta’s breath wafted over it.
Zanta’s fingers found her undergarments and pulled them down.
She took her time resettling between Nia’s legs, her lips trailing tantalizingly from Nia’s ankle to knee, never breaking eye contact.
Even this had Nia shivering in anticipation, and when Zanta reached her inner thigh, she whined.
Zanta had wanted to go slow, to take her time savoring everything about this beautiful woman, but that whine pushed her over the edge.
It became a whimper when Zanta’s tongue sank between her moist folds.
Zanta groaned in turn, heat flooding between her own legs at Nia’s sweet taste.
She hadn’t been with another woman since Emilie, and a small twinge of guilt slowed her for a moment before Nia’s hand found her hair and brought her back to the present.
Her tongue traced the edge of Nia’s labia before flicking lightly over her clit, eliciting a soft moan.
Zanta couldn’t see Nia’s face past her bunched up skirt, but the sounds she made were enough.
Zanta took to her meal with abandon, tasting every part of Nia until her sweet nectar ran down Zanta’s chin.
She let her tongue lave over Nia’s clit and down to her entrance, wishing she could slip her fingers in and feel Nia all around her. Nia moaned when Zanta’s tongue penetrated her, fingers fisting in Zanta’s hair and dragging her deeper.
“Please…Zanta…” The sound of her name so desperately spoken only spurred Zanta on.
She squeezed her thighs together, trying to alleviate some of the ache of her own arousal as she slowly thrust her tongue in and out, letting her breath pool in the humid heat between Nia’s legs.
Nia clenched around her, and Zanta groaned again, wishing, not for the first time, that she could simply grow a dick at will so she could feel this with more than her tongue.
She curled her tongue up, tastebuds dragging along Nia’s honeyed walls, nose buried in her petal-like folds, so that with every breath Zanta inhaled the essence of her arousal.
Nia’s cries cut off, coming out muffled, as if she’d clamped her other hand over her mouth to stifle them.
Her shapely thighs closed around Zanta’s head, and Zanta eased them back open, fingers digging into her soft flesh.
Her nose nudged Nia’s clit, and Nia’s hips bucked, her muffled cries growing more frantic with every amorous lap of tongue.
She was close. Zanta could feel it in the contraction of her pussy, and in the extra wetness that suddenly flooded Zanta’s mouth with the taste of overripe peaches.
She groaned, burying her tongue as deep as it would go. Wondering what the true depths of Nia’s insides felt like.
“Fuck,” Nia gasped, her hips writhing against Zanta’s face, her pussy clenching down hard on Zanta’s tongue. But she responded with equal enthusiasm, fucking Nia with her tongue as Nia rode her face.