Chapter 3 #2
"Now I want you to watch me." His eyes lock onto mine, burning with intent. "Watch me devour this beautiful flower."
Luna's artistry covers me even here, a bloom of petals framing my pussy, the center of the flower being the most intimate part of me.
My friend laughed while she painted it. I cringed.
But now, seeing my lover position himself between my thighs, his masked face descending toward her creation, I understand the purpose.
He lifts one of my legs over his shoulder and buries his face against my core.
The first stroke of his tongue makes me cry out. The second makes my knees buckle. By the third, I'm gripping his hair with both hands, riding his face with an abandon I didn't know I possessed.
"That's it." His voice is muffled against my flesh. "Take what you need. Use me for your pleasure."
I look down at him, this beautiful stranger with his mouth on my pussy and his hands gripping my ass, and the intimacy of the moment crashes over me. For once, someone wants me. Not my name, not my family's money, not what I can do for them. Just me.
The thought shatters what's left of my control.
The orgasm rips through me with the force of a summer storm, my vision going white at the edges, my entire body convulsing against his relentless mouth. I scream his borrowed name as I fall apart.
When I can breathe again, when my vision clears, I find him watching me with something like wonder in his dark eyes. He rises slowly, my release glistening on his lips, and his smile makes my heart stutter.
"You're a goddess." He lifts me easily, and I wrap my legs around his waist, clinging to him as he carries me to the bed. "An absolute fucking goddess."
He sets me on the edge of the mattress and steps back, and I watch with hungry eyes as he undresses for me.
The shirt falls away first, revealing the full expanse of his chest. The dusting of dark hair, the ridges of muscle, the panther and the viper and all the thorns and roses between.
He's sculpted like something from a Renaissance painting, all power and masculine beauty, and he's older than me by at least a decade.
A hint of silver threads through his long, dark hair.
The fine lines at the corners of his eyes along with the salt-and-pepper of his trimmed beard give him a distinguished look.
I didn't know I had a preference for older men until this exact moment.
He reaches back and tugs at the leather cord holding his hair in place. The black waves tumble free, falling to brush past his shoulders, and the sight of him like this, wild and untamed, steals what little breath I've managed to recover.
His hands move to his belt, and I hold my breath.
"Turn for me." The words leave my lips before I can think better of them. "Let me see all of you."
He pauses, surprise flickering across his features, but then he complies.
Slowly, he turns, letting me drink in every angle of him.
More scars on his back. More ink. The panther's body curving around to his spine.
The viper's tail draped over his shoulder.
His dark hair cascades down his back, a curtain of midnight against all that inked skin.
He's been hurt and healed and decorated with stories I may never know.
When he faces me again, his hands resume their work on his belt. The buckle clinks, the zipper descends, and then he's pushing his slacks down his muscular thighs.
I forget how to breathe.
My Dante is long. Deliciously thick. He's hard and flushed and leaking at the tip, and he's so much more than I expected. Fear and desire war in my chest, uncertainty making my cheeks flush hot.
He reads my expression and crosses to me, taking my hand. "Let me show you. There’s nothing to fear, my sweet jungle flower."
I let him guide my fingers to his shaft, let him wrap my hand around his silken heat. He's hard as steel beneath that smooth skin, pulsing with need, and when I stroke experimentally, he groans like I've wounded him.
"You're so beautiful," I whisper, looking up at him through my lashes. "All of you."
He traces the line of my jaw, then moves his hand to the back of my head. His silent instruction is clear, and I follow willingly, leaning forward until my lips brush the weeping tip of his cock.
"Open for me." His voice has gone rough, the control finally cracking. "Let me feel those gorgeous lips wrapped around me."
I part my lips and take him in, inch by inch, tasting salt and musk and something uniquely him. He's too big to take fully, but I try, swallowing around him as he hits the back of my throat.
The sound he makes is barely human.
"Swallow as I push deeper." His fingers tighten in my hair. "Let me feel you take as much of me as you can."
I grip his bare, muscular thighs and sink lower, breathing through my nose, relaxing my throat the way instinct tells me to. When I bite down gently, his cock pulses against my tongue.
"Fuck, jungle flower. Do that again. Just like that."
I obey, biting and sinking and swallowing, and his hips begin to rock in small thrusts. The taste of his precum floods my mouth, forbidden and addictive, and I want more.
His hand wraps around my throat, not squeezing, just holding. Controlling. And the dizzying rush of submission makes me moan around his length.
He pulls back with a growl, his cock slipping from my lips. "I don't want to come in your mouth." His chest heaves, his eyes wild. "I want to feel that perfect pussy clamping around me when I finally let go."
The crude words should shock me. Instead, they make my empty core clench with desperate need.
He reaches up and tears off his mask, tossing it aside, and for the first time, I see his full face. I take in his strong features, the beard I've been feeling against my skin, eyes so dark they swallow the red light, gold flickering at their edges. They burn with a hunger that mirrors my own.
"Now you," he says. He moves with a predator's grace, every muscle in his thighs and core rippling beneath inked skin as he moves toward the cascading shower.
I watch the panther on his back shift and prowl with each step, watch the way his shoulders roll and his long dark hair sways against his spine.
He wets a small cloth beneath the warm spray and wrings it out, the tendons in his forearms flexing with the simple movement. When he turns back to me, water droplets glisten on his chest like scattered diamonds, and his eyes hold mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
He crosses back to the bed, unhurried, letting me drink in every inch of him.
Then he kneels before me and cradles my jaw in one large hand while the other gently strokes the warm cloth over my face, wiping away leaves and flowers with tender, reverent passes until there's nothing left to hide behind.
For a moment, we just look at each other, bare-faced and vulnerable.
“There you are," he murmurs, studying my bare face with an intensity that makes my chest ache. "There's my jungle flower.”
I fall back against the black silk covering the large bed in the middle of the room as he covers my body with his. The weight of him pressing me into the mattress is grounding, intoxicating, and I spread my thighs wider in invitation.
My heel catches on the silk sheets and I reach down to unbuckle the straps of my stilettos, suddenly aware of how ridiculous I must look still wearing my shoes.
His hand catches my wrist before I can reach the clasp. "Leave them on."
I blink up at him. "But they're—"
"—sexy as fuck," he cuts in. His eyes rake down my body, lingering on my legs, and the raw hunger in his gaze makes my skin flush hot. "I want to feel them digging into my back when I'm buried inside you."
Oh.
Oh.
I let my hand fall away from the strap, and his smile turns wolfish.
He reaches between us, gripping his thick shaft, and drags the swollen head through my slick folds and I forget all about my shoes.
The sensation makes my breath catch, my hips jerking toward him involuntarily.
"Easy, jungle flower." His voice is wrecked, barely holding together. "Let me feel how wet you are for me first."
He strokes himself through my seam again, coating his length in my arousal, the head of his cock nudging my clit with each pass. I whimper and reach for his hips, trying to pull him closer, but he resists with a dark chuckle.
"Patience." He notches himself at my entrance but doesn't push forward. Instead, he circles my opening with the thick crown, teasing, taunting, making me ache for the fullness I know is coming. "I want you desperate for me."
"I am." The words come out broken, breathless. "Please, Dante. I need you inside me."
His jaw tightens at the sound of his name on my lips. He uses his free hand to spread me open, his thumb and fingers parting my slick folds so we can both see where his cock kisses my virgin entrance.
"Watch," he commands, his voice dropping to a rasp. "Watch me claim what's mine."
His?
My breath stutters in my chest as I lift my head, my gaze locked on the place where our bodies are about to join. He presses forward, just the tip breaching me, and I gasp at the stretch.
“Oh, yes.” My lashes kiss the top of my cheeks.
"No. Eyes on us, beautiful. Don't look away."
My eyelids flutter open and we both watch as my body begins to accept him, my pink flesh stretching around his thick girth, inch by devastating, deliciously painful inch.
The stretch is intense. Overwhelming. He pushes forward slowly, giving me time to adjust, and when he meets the resistance of my virginity, he pauses.
"Tell me your name." His voice is strained, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. "Tell me, and I'll give you anything you want."
"Ilona," I whisper. The truth spills from me because secrets have no place between our bodies. "My name is Ilona."