His tongue laps at my folds the way I like, and he hums to show his enjoyment matches my own.
“So swollen,” he utters—two words dark with delight.
After a few moments of gentle attention, he crawls over me, his tongue painting a trail up my trembling stomach, between my breasts. He settles his forearms on either side of my face. He slides the veil down, our eyes meeting.
I shrink a little.
He is a predator ready to devour willing prey.
I gaze down the long, hard length of him.
He is naked and stunning. The light from the artificial fire illuminates the bulges and darkens the grooves that define each muscle. His chest tattoos are lightly dusted in hair that arrows down to the long length, hard and pulsing between his hips. It curves upward, like a forearm with a pink fist.
There is so much beast in him. All the parts are there hidden in what as a whole looks human and yet… doesn’t.
He is too large. Too scarred. Too muscular. Eyes pretty and blue yet set into stark features that express a need to dominate or destroy.
“Aster.” His lips meet mine.
We both hum, tongues tangling gently before greed and lust demand more pressure.
"My king.”
"I needed to taste these lips." His tongue, much longer and thicker than mine, licks my mouth on the outside.
"Why?" I pant.
"Because, little creature, I seem to breathe better when I can taste you,” he offers, his weight lowering to mine, reminding me that he is capable of ending my life without even trying to.
I cup the back of his thick neck, circling the muscles along his rising shoulders with my fingertips. "Did you know that when I do this... your groan rumbles in your muscles like you're purring."
"Does it?" He sounds amused. "And you think you have tamed me, sweet creature?"
"No.” I can hardly breathe now as he applies more pressure, as if his kind words are refuted by his own body. “I don't think that will ever happen.”
“Keep your eyes open,” he says into my mouth. “Watch. Look what your pretty body can do to your king.”
I don’t understand until he shifts and wraps his large hand around his… cock. That’s what he calls it. I think I like the word now; it’s not so crass. One syllable. With a punching sound. Cock. Like thrust, thud, fuck, pound. Cock.
Between our bodies, he strokes his fist from the root along the throbbing rod, to the crown, and rolls his palm over the slit a few times before dragging his hand back down.
It’s incredibly erotic.
Like in the picture.
“You may help me breathe deep, but I own you.” He groans. “All the ways I will take you. All the different positions I will bend your body into, all the ways I’ll move you, manhandle you. You will never stand a chance if I want you bent or spread, little creature. You’re mine.”
He pumps himself, squeezes upward toward the flushing tip, and then starts again. His abdomen contracts to the violent friction. Along his forearms, coils of veins lift his tattoos, pulsing his skin like his heartbeat is everywhere.
“Your womb is sacred,” he goes on, voice like gravel. “But your little body is mine to enjoy. And I’ll move you around wherever I want you, hold you, force you to take me.”
I can hear his teeth grit together, his heavy panting pummelling me. His arousal is palpable; I feel the tight agony inside him, twisting us both like rubber bands, like the building of a song or pirouette that gains in speed and intensity.
And then peaks.
On a low growl, he moves up the mattress, aligning his cock between my thighs. And I am pressed to his heaving chest, moaning, as the brunt of his fist beats against my core. He wrings his cum up from the base, shooting warm, white fluid over my pelvis, shuddering and groaning as he works every spurt from inside him.
Grabbing my throat, he drags me up the mattress so he can take my lips in a kiss that matches the intensity of this moment. Of seeing him unravel.
Leaning on one arm, holding his weight, he scoops the warm, wet fluid from the inside of my trembling legs. My knees fall open, shameless, needy. After that and the vitamins this first-light, I am almost feverish.
He pulls from our kiss and gazes at me through hooded eyes like spears that hold an animal in place. “Such a good little Silk Girl. Do you want my cum inside you? Want your stomach swollen, like your pussy?”
I moan, pressing my head back into the pillow when he slides a finger carefully between my puffy pussy lips. “There you go. Hmm. Very tight.” He continues, sliding out again to scoop more from my thigh before pushing gently back in.
Out.
In.
Out.
In.
The slow, thorough penetration brings me to the edge of something… something only he draws from me. That feeling—my own release. I didn’t know I could have one, until he showed me.
My eyes flutter shut against the intensity of his blue stare. Pushing his cum into me, he plants it deep. He collects more from my pelvis and repeats the action.
When I can no longer bear the slow thrusting, I clench for him to stay deep. To give me my sweet release.
A husky chuckle leaves him—deep and dangerous—and rumbles around the small space between us. “Okay, little creature.” He slides in until his knuckle touches my lips and stirs, spinning my nerves and wrapping them around his finger. Just one finger. One thick, rough, long Xin De finger coiled with the fibres of my pleasure.
My hips circle with his motion. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes,” I stammer again because I actually don’t know what I’m answering—he didn’t ask me a question. “Yes, to everything. Everything you do to my body.”
“I never gave you a choice, sweet creature.” He rotates his finger. “Can you feel my cum inside you? You’ll always be filled with me, your pussy, your womb, and your mind. You occupy so much of mine I demand the same from you.”
Do all males speak such heated words? How can words consume me so entirely? How can mere speech turn me around, flip my stomach, and force my core to pulse? I like it.
Moaning as he strokes inside me, I let the raw words seep in as he brings me over the edge, no, throws me over it. I shake and shudder around his unhurried penetration.
“You ripple so beautifully when you come for me. My cock is viciously jealous of my finger right now.”
And as the pleasure blooms, unfurling me, and my insides massage his fingers, wanting them to stay there forever, I realise I might love him. That it’s okay to admit it to myself. Nothing lasts forever, but right now, I love him.
Nothing lasts forever.
The lovely feeling mellows.
Rome’s finger is still deep inside me as I gasp for air and slump further into the mattress.
“I know what you say—” I pant, licking my dry mouth to get the words out. “All the ways you’ll take my body, force me, but I see what you do.” I open my eyes to his, stunning blue beacons. “And you could have done that tonight, forced me open, even as I am sore, but you didn’t. You don’t want to hurt me, my king.”
His eyes narrow on me, amusement and menace both dwelling within their azure depths. “True,” he purrs. “I do not desire to hurt you, sweet creature. The thought of your pain… angers me. I’m not sure what to make of it.”
A small smile hits my lips, and I store that sentence away for when… ‘nothing lasts forever.’ I ask, “But my body is just yours to use? Is that all it is? I feel so much… more.”
His hand moves to the side of my face, and his thumb meets my lower lip. “No,” he purrs, eyes roaming my face, surprising me with their softness. “Your body is not just for me to use. Inside you is when I feel most human.”
Nothing lasts forever.
I’m okay with that.
I have to be okay with that.
