Page 84 of Sinful Blaze

“So beautiful,” I hear him whisper again and again.

I’m blushing like crazy. My cheeks are on fire and my skin is on fire and everywhere he touches ignites with an aching need for more of him. I don’t even realize my fingers have tangled in his hair until I feel his tongue glide along my slit.

My spine buckles. “Pasha…”

He shifts his shoulders for a moment, struggling with something I can’t see. But then he’s back, his hands smoothing from my spread thighs and over my stomach, and I’m met with the wonderful feel of his bare skin against mine.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs, his mouth hovering over the very spot I need him most.

Fuck, do I need him. I need him to be hungry and greedy and I need to be the only one who can satisfy him.

His tongue glides through my slit again, but this time, he doesn’t let up. He dips, licks, sucks, renders me mute. Every sensation feels twice as intense as before. I can’t stop rolling my hips or pulling on his thick, dark hair.

I can’t stop moaning.

I can’t stop gasping.

I don’t want to stop any of this.

Pasha latches onto my clit and I buck into his mouth with a loud mewl of pleasure. His hands caress down my body to wrap around my thighs, holding me to him as he devours me.

“Pasha… fuck, I’m gonna…” I’m breathless. I can’t form words. I just need.

He presses a finger inside me and fuckfuckfuck I’m so close, right on the edge, needing just a little more until?—

What? He’s pulling away?

I could cry. I want to sob with frustration and this literal ache now pulsating throughout my whole body. I lean up on my arms to demand an explanation?—

I’m met with him. All of him. So warm and solid and strong, and bare.

His mouth collides with mine. My tender breasts are pressed against his chest as he pulls me closer to him, closer to the edge of the table. His hands spread me wider around him, and oh my fucking god he’s throbbing hard and thick right at the core of me.

Pasha cups my face to make me look him in the eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. The pure rapture on his face as he pushes into me is a mirror of my own.

Was he this big before? Did I feel this full before?

“Oh, fuck…” My lashes flutter when he pulls back and surges deeper. “Pasha, I’m… fuck…”

“Let it out, baby.” His breath is hot against my skin. “Let me feel you come for me like the good girl I know you are.”

That’s all it takes.

As soon as the sentence ends, I’m a shuddering, spasming mess in his arms, flying apart at the seams. He doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t stop fucking the life out of me. The whole table rattles with every savage thrust.

I cling to him like that’ll keep me from dissolving into the ether.

“Good girl,” he growls repeatedly. “So fucking beautiful when you take my cock…”

If I didn’t have a praise kink before, I do now. It’s one thing to be desired as a physical object—it’s another thing entirely to feel like he’d fuck my soul if he could.

And who’s to say he isn’t? Judging by the way he’s groaning, he’s in me deeper than he’s ever been in anyone before.

Tremors ripple through my limbs and center in my core; the aftershocks make him groan again and again.

Good.

I love making him groan.

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