Page 7 of Whispers on the Mountain

I might have embarrassed her, but she doesn't make any move to deny what I've caught her doing.

He left hand is tangled in the fabric of her skirt, tucked tightly between thick thighs exposed where she's lifted the dress and I know that if I brought her fingers to my mouth, I'd get a taste of the sweetest pussy that's ever tempted me.

"Come here, fiore."

4

ZEPHYR

I swear. I am not sitting at this man's kitchen table, masturbating under the cover of the lacy table cloth.

Something about Augustus just has me feeling restless. My skin feels hot and prickly everywhere, but there's a pressure built up in my core that has me desperate for some relief.

When my fingers first pushed between my thighs, I didn't even realize what I was doing.

But the man is hotness incarnate and he's been leaning against the counter, all stretched out with his ankles crossed, those muscles on casual display like he's a model in a photo shoot. It's more than I can handle and I guess pressing my fingers against my clit to try to relieve the pressure there is probably a saner option than, say, climbing him like a tree.

I really did not think he could tell what I was doing and it is so not polite of him to call me out like this.

"Come here, fiore."

When he calls me flower in Italian like that? Every time he says it, his voice goes to gravel and it comes out in a melodic accent that isn't as noticeable in his usual voice. It does things to me that have me acting purely on instinct.

Augustus pulls me off the chair and I'm hoping for hungry kissing.

Instead, he leads me around the table and lifts me surprisingly easily so that I'm sitting on top of the table cloth I was just hiding under.

Again, I'm hoping to feel his lips against mine. I want the short scruff of his beard scrubbing my skin. I want--

He doesn't move between my knees as my legs dangle off the edge of the table. Instead, he turns one of the chairs sideways so that I can rest my feet on it.

Warm hands grip my knees and I feel calluses as they slide up the outside of my thighs as he pushes the hem of my skirt up.

Thick fingers climb up my hips and hook into the elastic of my panties.

I'm all too eager to shimmy my hips helpfully as he works them off my ass and down my legs, his eyes never leaving mine.

Those heavy hands fold the fabric of my skirt up high on my thighs, till it's neatly gathered in my lap and I can feel the cool air of the room against my bare pussy.

But instead of moving close to touch me like I need him to, August rests those large hands on top of my thighs, only letting the rough pads of his thumbs barely brush me before he takes a step back.

His eyes sweep down my entire body, lingering on the place between my legs before taking my hand to his mouth, then they close tightly as he inhales the scent of me still on my fingertips before placing my own hand back to my center.

Augustus settles back in the same spot, leaning back against the counter a few feet in front of me. Only this time, the table isn't between us and I've been carefully arranged to be on full display for him.

My panties are a small wad of white satin in his hand as he raises them to his face and inhales deeply-- his eyes still on mine.

"Show me, fiore."

His voice is soft, but there's no mistaking its command-- or his meaning-- as his eyes glance between my legs.

He...wants to watch me touch myself?

My knees fall together, my hand still wedged between them but far from where he put it.

"Why?"

I don't understand why he'd rather watch me than do it himself and I'm feeling silly and self-conscious.

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