Page 4 of Koroleva

"No?" I repeated, not understanding, which made him pull the treat from his mouth.

"It's your bachelorette party and I'm your secret."

"Who said you're my secret?" I questioned, furrowing my brow.

"Then, does your fiancé know what we're doing?"

"I don't discuss my private life with strangers, especially not when I'm fucking," I retorted as something dark flitted through his eyes but vanished quickly.

"Then, I'm your secret."

"We're all someone's secret, for one reason or another. Besides, it doesn't matter. If I wanted to talk, I'd be in a confessional, and you don't look like a priest," I grumbled.

"Nor do you look like you frequent the church much," he countered. I was getting impatient.

"Look, I'm not here for sermons." I pretended to pull my dress down to leave but he stopped me.

"Understood. I get the hint. I'll shut up and give you what you came for. Don’t blame me if your screams drown out the music in the place."

"If you want to make me scream, start by getting undressed." He shook his head again.

"Tonight is yours. As you said, I'm your wedding gift. I'm going to dedicate myself body and soul to make you come so many times you lose count of your orgasms," he licked a nipple. "You'll do it in my mouth." He pushed his fingers deeper, slotting in a second without trouble. "On my fingers." He rotated them, eliciting an uncontrollable moan that escaped my lips. "But not on my dick, sorry, that part is off-limits, I don’t carry condoms, and neither of us wants to risk an unwanted pregnancy. I don’t think your future husband would appreciate that."

I sighed in frustration. I wanted to fuck, like crazy, not just a handjob or a free meal. But I wasn’t foolish enough to have unprotected sex with a stranger. Not because of pregnancy, but because I didn’t know his medical history.

"Maybe you can ask one of your buddies out there for one."

"I’m not going to go out and leave you hanging. If I do, it will be to not come back, so you choose," I sighed. "Relax, I have a guaranteed satisfaction seal, if you don’t like what I offer, you can always come back and repeat as many times as necessary," he commented, before kneeling down and plunging his mouth between my legs.

Okay, I said I didn’t want oral sex, but... damn! His mouth was everywhere and my screams were unfiltered and loud.

How could he move it like that? With slow, torturous strokes, then switching to a pace that obliterated my clit.

I didn’t give a damn if the whole place knew what was happening; in fact, maybe it even turned me on a bit, the image of those bikers getting excited knowing what was going on in the storage room.

I dug my fingers into the top of his head and rubbed my groin against his face. Fine, he wanted to give me pleasure and I was going to accept it, he was too skilled to refuse.

His masculine fingers tortured my insides, entering, twisting, while those lips sucked my swollen lower parts, in search of pleasure no one had found before.

He brought me to the brink of orgasm twice.

I didn't like to beg, nor to be left at the threshold. In fact, I never begged during sex. The third time he pretended to pull away, stopping me from exploding, I gripped him unceremoniously and rubbed with such fervor I feared I might drown him in my fluids.

I didn't ask for permission, I came wildly, with a shudder that rattled me from head to toe, and he moved his fingers aside to uncork the bottle of my pleasure and plunge his tongue at will.

Fuck! Fuck!

I howled, screamed, and pulled on those long locks at the top of his head to twirl them around my fingers.

I shattered like the vodka glass I had left forgotten across the street and flowed into his mouth, letting him drink my own distilled essence.

I didn’t know if it was because of the beard, but the sensations multiplied my pleasure tenfold.

When the last lazy lick covered my sex and his eyes met mine with triumph flickering in them, I brazenly half-closed my eyes, ran my thumb across his lips, and brought it to my mouth to taste.

"And? Are you going to bring out the complaint book?" he asked, standing up. The bastard knew what he was doing, and I

liked that. He wasn’t modest, just like me.

---