Page 20 of False Heir

Her cries crescendoed into a symphony of pleasure, and I felt her clench around me as she came hard, her entire body trembling. In that moment, as I watched over her, every barrier between us fell away, leaving nothing but pure, unadulterated connection.

“Always,” she gasped, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that seared into my very soul. “Always yours, Tristan.”

“Good,” I murmured, my voice rough with emotion and desire as I slowly withdrew my fingers, leaving her panting and exposed in the quiet of the afternoon. She lay there, a goddess in the rumpled sheets of our getaway cabin bed, the soft light of early afternoon filtering through the windows and caressing her flushed skin.

I shifted, my movements deliberate as I turned her over gently. Her breath hitched, anticipation sparkling in her eyes. My hands traced the contours of her hips before hooking around the waistband of her leggings. With careful precision, I peeled the fabric down her legs, revealing her in all her bare glory.

“Tristan,” she whispered, a hint of vulnerability threaded within her voice.

I met her gaze squarely, my own flooded with an intensity born of years of longing. “You don’t need to say anything,” I said softly, my fingers brushing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. “All I want is to worship you.”

And worship her I did, my touch a reverent exploration of her body’s every response. Each stroke, each glide, brought her closer to the edge, only for me to pull back at the last second. I relished the way her body quivered, how her breaths came out in ragged pants, her chest heaving with the effort to hold onto the precipice of pleasure I dangled her over.

“Tristan, please,” she begged, her voice laced with a sweet desperation that fueled my resolve to draw out this moment, to savor the power I had to make her unravel with just a touch.

“I like you like this,” I confessed, my words barely louder than a whisper as I continued to tease her, “when you’re quivering for me, when you’re right on the brink.”

She was beautiful in her frustration, her desire a tangible force between us, pulling me deeper into the intoxicating dance of giving and withholding. But even as I indulged in this play of control, another question lingered on my lips, one that promised to push the boundaries of our shared pleasure even further.

“Has anyone ever...?” I trailed off, my question implied rather than spoken as I watched her reaction intently.

“Never,” she answered, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. She shifted uneasily, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “I don’t know if—“

“Would it feel good?” I interrupted, a smirk playing on my lips as I caught the flicker of curiosity in her gaze. “There’s one way to find out.”

Her breath caught, and she nodded, the silent permission electrifying the air between us. In that unspoken agreement, we ventured into uncharted territories, exploring the depths of trust and the heights of sensation, bound together by the promise of discovering new ways to worship at the altar of our love.

“Adriana,” I whispered, bending over her, my lips barely brushing her ear. Every word was a confession, every syllable a secret meant only for her. “I want to know all of you.”

Her body stiffened beneath me, a shiver racing down her spine that had nothing to do with the cool air seeping into the room from the open window. I held my breath, waiting for her response, unsure of how she would react. But when she let out a soft sigh and nodded slightly, a wave of relief washed over me.

“Okay,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Unspeakable tenderness welled up within me as I carefully turned her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up to align with mine. My hand slid slowly down her back, tracing the curve of her spine before coming to rest on her lower back, my fingers splayed across her heated skin.

She was so open, so vulnerable in this moment, and I cherished the trust she placed in me. I leaned down, pressing a soft kiss at the base of her spine before gradually moving lower, my kisses trailing a path of fiery desire on her skin.

My hands roamed over her body, tracing invisible lines of pleasure that left her writhing beneath me. She was responsive, eager even—for every touch, every kiss as if desperate to feel every ounce of love I had for her.

“Tristan,” she whimpered, the sound sending shockwaves through me. It was pure pleasure, raw and unadulterated. She wanted me as much as I wanted her.

I moved slowly, teasingly until she was squirming with anticipation. And then, when I thought she couldn’t take it anymore, when I knew she was teetering on the edge, I slid my tongue around her perfect little asshole.

I expected her to tense up, to pull away perhaps, but she didn’t. Instead, she cried out, the sound muffled by the pillow her face was half buried in. It was a sound of pleasure, tempered with surprise and maybe a little fear too. It was beautiful.

I took my time, teasing her slowly, listening to every gasp and whimper as I explored her in this new way. I wanted to show her how much I wanted her, how deeply I craved every inch of her.

“Tristan... Oh God...” she moaned, and it sounded like a prayer on her lips—her voice hoarse and filled with a desperate yearning that mirrored my own.

I could feel her trembling under me, her body convulsing with each stroke of my tongue. I grazed my fingers over her clit adding another layer of pleasure.

“Is it good?” I asked, my words muffled against her skin.

“Yes,” she gasped, the word coming out as a choked sob. “Don’t stop.”

I didn’t. If anything, her pleading made me more determined. My tongue pressed deeper, my fingers working in tandem to bring out gasps and whimpers that drove me insane with desire.

Slowly, I traced a wet trail towards the puckered center of her pleasure. My fingers played at her entrance, teasing and testing. She squirmed beneath me, anticipation heightening her every nerve ending.

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