Page 64 of Devil's Thirst

I work my fingers inside her for several strokes, then use the flat side of the spoon to give a light pop to one nipple, then the other. She lets loose a throaty moan that is doing nothing for my hard-on.

“A little touch of pain feels good, doesn’t it, pet?”

She nods, her pretty pink tongue swiping her bottom lip. It makes me want a taste. I move from where I stand until I’m at her head, above her, looking down. I bend and kiss along her jaw until I’m at her lips. We’re upside down from one another, giving the kiss a whole different feel. While our tongues explore, I slide the bottom of her sports bra up above her breasts. I don’t take it off; I just move it enough to free them.

Her hands spread wide, flattening her palms against the granite as though she’s having to force herself to hold still.

“Good girl, keep those hands where they are,” I encourage, knowing a task like that keeps her active mind occupied.

When I graze my teeth over her nipples, then lick and suck them, her body truly begins to writhe with need. The pressure is building, and I’m so goddamn here for it.

I shower her breasts with attention until her moans fade to pleading whimpers.

“Please, Sante. I need you to touch me.”

“I am touching you,” I say wickedly, giving her nipple one more twist with my fingers.

The sound she makes in answer isn’t entirely human. It’s pure animalistic need—the resurgence of her primal side. Her mind has surrendered to her body, and that’s exactly what I want.

I finally move back to the far end of the island, taking in the beautiful sight of her arousal coating her and dripping down over her tightly puckered ass.

“Time to eat.” My voice has taken its own walk on the wild side, sounding half savage.

I coax Amelie’s legs over my shoulders, and she hooks her feet around my upper back. That first taste is sublime. I do one slow circle of my flattened tongue over her clit, then a languid lick along her full length.

The guttural groan of relief that resonates from her chest makes me feel like I’ve climbed fucking Everest. I dive in, working her folds, one side, then the other. When I add a finger to rub at that hidden bundle of nerves inside her, her hips begin to flex and roll. I make sure to let up every now and then, giving her body time to miss my touch and crave more. Only when the need has snowballed into an avalanche that can’t be controlled do I hold my course and drive her over that heavenly cliff.

I don’t allow the squeeze of her thighs to keep me from milking every last ounce of pleasure from her core. Her body jerks and vibrates, dancing to the music of her mindless cries.

She is unbridled beauty.

A fucking goddess.

“Absolute perfection,” I whisper against her tender flesh before finally pulling away.

I help her place her heels back on the counter and circle around to lift her into my arms. She removes her blindfold, then hugs my shoulders, resting her forehead against the side of my neck. I take her back to the bathroom and start the shower water for her. As much as I’d love to fuck her six ways to Sunday, she’s not ready.

“You get cleaned up, and I’ll order us some food, okay?”

Amelie smiles shyly, then reaches up on her toes to bring her lips to mine for one last kiss.

“Fuck, my girl is sweet when she comes,” I tease, patting her ass before I head back to the kitchen.

Before I do anything else, I grab a few paper towels and unbuckle my pants. If I don’t do something about this monster erection, it may do permanent damage. I look over at the island, reliving what just played out, and with an embarrassingly few strokes, I’m jetting into my own hand.

Jesus, I needed that.

I clean up myself and the island, which still has evidence of our earlier activities smudged on its glossy surface. Once it’s sanitized, I order Chinese, then answer a few emails until Amelie returns from her shower. She sits on the sofa beside me, though not close enough for my taste. I take it upon myself to remedy the situation. With one hand behind her back and the other around her thigh, I hoist her closer.

“Better,” I grunt before picking up the TV remote. I scroll through the apps to find a handful of streaming services, but that’s it. “No Hulu or local channels?”

“No, the news sort of gives me panic attacks,” she admits warily. “That man does a surprising number of press conferences. I began to feel like turning on the TV was a game of Russian roulette, so I quit watching.”

“News is always depressing anyway,” I concede. I need to stay informed on local events, but checking a news app on my phone is easy enough. No reason to upset her if it’s not necessary.

Glancing in her direction, I realize she’s grinning like a kid with candy. “What?”

“I’ve felt like a freak for years because of my aversion to the news. Do you know how many restaurants have TVs playing on the walls? Lina and Oran know I hate the news but never knew why. It’s yet another one of the things that’s felt like thishuge obstacle for me … until you came along. It’s like, with you around, everything is easier.”

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