Natalya #3
And every second of that infernal stare is making me feel hot in every way possible, until I start slightly wriggling from the temptation, until it makes me spread my legs, opening him a direct view on my soaked pussy, leaking straight on the altar under my bare ass cheeks.
His pupils drop there, tracing the liquid sliding down from my entrance, pooling under me.
I reach for the end of my braid and slip the scrunchie off, detangling the thick white tail until my hair spreads around me like a veil, like it’s the only thing I wear. He’s watching every move, wickedly hypnotized.
And I enjoy every second of it.
Even though I’m the one naked and spread on the table, he’s the one bewitched now, standing in front of me like a desperate suitor.
My lips curl into a smug smile as I let my hand fall between my legs. My fingers slowly trail down my clit all the way to the entrance and I sink them just a little inside me, just so I can soak them in the wet fuse of me and him.
The slickness sticks to my middle finger so I can bring it to my mouth, making sure every millisecond of it is making him question his sanity just as I have to do it all the time.
He covers his mouth, his existence visibly falling into feral fever and his self-control too fragile for this.
I put the merged juices into my mouth and lick them with a sinful smile, devouring how wrecked he looks, how devastated he is, how I could ask anything of him right now and he would give it to me, like some guilty dog.
He’s apparently done with the show.
He steps back in, closing the distance between us confidently, so I shoot my leg up and put the tip of my feet on his stomach, stopping him, scraping the confidence he wears like armor.
I’m so fucking done with that.
I’m the one playing now.
I let my feet dangle down from the altar again, testing if he’s going to close the distance or listen to the silent command I gave him.
He doesn’t move at first, only starvation and blighted hunger are pouring out of his eyes. Then he flinches, too weak to obey—he’s about to reach for me.
So I strike him across his face, the slap echoing through the enormously high building. I can almost hear the painted angels above us hiss with him, as if they could feel the sting.
The beautiful curly disarray of his hair flips to the side with the force of the hit. When he slowly recovers, straightening his face back toward me, he wears the slightest little apology expression, jaw clenched with the force of self-control hanging on a thin strap.
“Take that off,” I command, the tip of my feet brushing his shirt.
He pulls it over his head, messing his hair into even more adorable golden-brown havoc, then drops the clothes at his feet and remains still, standing like a willing sacrifice as though daring me to take him any way I please.
And I tilt my head, eating him with my eyes for a moment, enjoying myself.
He’s the most beautiful thing walking this earth. The whole torso of his is covered in chaos, my chaos, my own scribbled unraveling. He looks like an embodiment of my internal turmoil and he’s wearing it proudly like my own obsessed observer that he is.
The silver cross gleams against his skin in the dip between his collarbones since he wears it like a quiet mockery of heaven.
My eyes slide down the beautiful body, tracing every muscle and vein deliberately, catching on the unbearably attractive line of hair leading down his lower stomach, disappearing under the hem of his bottoms lifted slightly with an unmissable huge bulge. He’s hard again.
I lift my head, too proud of myself, silent giggle escaping my mouth.
“You’re gonna beg now,” I say lightly.
The spark igniting in the dark brown of his eyes almost burns straight through me. His lips part—
“No,” I snap. “Not yet.”
He bites down anything that was about to come out.
“You’re gonna get on your knees,” I drawl, every word slow, as if I’m giving instructions to a child. “And you’re gonna pray for me.”
The corners of his mouth lift into a dark smirk.
“Gladly,” he says while gracefully falling to his knees right in front of me, one by one, like a good obedient boy.
The sight of him like this is pure exhilaration floating through my veins. There’s something raw and delicious about making a huge arrogant man fall to my feet, making him crawl and ruining him into emotional wreckage.
He settles on his knees and gently takes one of my feet into his hand, bringing it to his mouth and trailing soft kisses up my ankle, continuing up.
“Now I lay me down at your feet,” he prays through the kisses with that cocky tone. “I pray your breath is all I need,” he continues with the confident drawl, his mouth now tracing the inner side of my leg.
“If I should break before I wake,” his tongue is slipping up my inner thigh, making me lose myself in the heat traveling back into my pussy. “Let my soul be yours to take.”
His hands shoot up to my hips and slide me closer to the edge of the altar, so he can reach my pussy easily.
“I’m begging you,” he says, his mouth dangerously close to my pussy now, a warm breath already reaching me. “Let me follow you past the edge of everything, Natalya.”
I thread my fingers through his curls and tug sharply to snap him away when he’s just inches from my core.
“Who do you belong to?” I ask him, biting my lower lip to contain the satisfied smile.
He smiles back maliciously, before landing the answer with dominant confidence.
“Natalya Moretti.”
Oh God.
The words alone send my eyeballs to the back of my head, as I let my body fall down on the cold stone, letting him take me.
“Uh-huh,” I squeak out, just when his tongue finds my clit.
I can feel him standing up so he can devour me more comfortably, while my back arches from the pleasure.
He’s playing with my clit, gently, in a familiar worshipping way, with a slow, ruinous certainty, his fingers almost painfully digging into the skin on my hips, while mine are draping through his hair, pulling him more into me, letting him have his treat.
I let his fingers roam over my body, then he presses two fingers into my entrance, not deep anymore, just there, until my view blackens and another wave of unraveling starts wrecking my whole existence.
I can’t take it anymore. The third orgasm is too much for my body, it’s the most beautiful ache yet I know damn well I won’t be able to lift a finger after this one.
And as if I’m not ruined completely, half dying while seeing white stars, he brings his fingers into my mouth and makes me gag on them before giving me resuscitation with one final kiss on my mouth.
?
I lie on the altar, eyes closed, chest heaving, my feet dangling loosely around his waist.
Time stopped making sense again, so I don’t know how long I stay like that, suspended somewhere between collapse and relief, but when I finally open my eyes, he’s standing in front of me, peacefully smiling, his hands tenderly brushing along the length of my legs.
“Can you stand?” he asks, satisfaction written all over that sinful, self-assured stare.
“I don’t think so,” I wheeze out, my voice not functioning.
His smile widens. “Good,” he says proudly, and then he lifts me.
I bury my face into his neck and let him carry me wherever he wants. I genuinely don’t care right now. My body feels boneless, molten, and claimed.
He drops on the mattress in the back room with me, letting my limbs sprawl over him, our skin still dewy, glued together by shared heat.
“We can’t stay here long. You’ll get cold,” he murmurs quietly, like he’s trying not to wake me while also gently pulling me back from the haze.
I could stay here forever, actually. But I guess that’s not possible.
“You’re always so warm,” I mumble into his skin, my lips brushing his collarbone. “Like you’re carrying the Italian sun inside you.”
His chest trembles with a silent laugh beneath my cheek instead of answering right away.
“And you’re always freezing,” he replies weakly.
I can feel his heartbeat quicken. He’s suddenly nervous. He rolls us gently so he can press a kiss to my forehead, while staying silent.
I know why he tensed up. I don’t remember much about where I come from. Neither my brother nor I have ever spoken about it.
All I know is that it was really cold. And with Adrien I’m never cold.