Page 22 of Wistful Whispers

“Can I lick your pussy?” Seamus’s blue eyes plead as he feathers a finger back and forth along the soaked crotch of my panties.

I suck in a breath. I’m thirty-seven years old and no one has ever asked me this question, they’ve taken what they’ve wanted from me. “Uh…yes?”

He yanks my panties aside, baring me to him. “Fucking hell, you're perfect.” He dips his head, giving me a long, slow lick. “You taste like heaven,” he groans, tracing his tongue around my clit. “Do you like me tasting your pussy, baby?”

I can only nod, pleasure stealing my voice. He swirls the tip of his tongue around my sensitive bud, flicking it gently. My hips begin to buck against his face.

“Yes. Fuck my face. I love how responsive you are,” he purrs against me. “I'm gonna make you come so hard.”

Seamus laps through my folds, alternating between spearing into my entrance with his tongue and sucking my clit. I’m pulsing and contracting as pressure builds throughout my core.

“Mmmmm. You're getting close, aren't you?” he growls. “I can’t wait for you to come all over my face.”

I'm lost to the most incredible sensations. Mindless with bliss. Seamus holds me at the edge expertly.

“Rub your clit against my tongue,” he coaxes, grabbing my hips and showing me what to do. “Take what you need, beautiful.”

I rock into his mouth, allowing myself to let go. Pleasure crests and crashes over me when I topple over, gushing my release against his lips. He moans in satisfaction, lapping up every drop.

Seamus rolls to my side and pulls me into his lap. His rigid erection presses against my sensitive pussy, wrenching a whimper from me at the thought of having him inside me.

“Do you feel how hard you’ve made me?” He thrusts up against me slowly. “I'm gonna fuck you so good. Fill you up with my come. Would you like me to?”

I bury my face in his neck, tears pricking the corners of my eyes at the intensity of the experience. He holds me close, stroking my back soothingly.

“Shh, I've got you,” he murmurs. “You’re doing beautifully, Marcella. I'm so proud of you.”

The sharp buzz of my phone jolts me awake, ripping me out of the last traces of my dream—Seamus, the stairwell, his mouth on my skin. My body is still warm from it. My pulse thrumming too fast.

I sit up, untangling the sheets from my legs, and blink at the screen. My mother.

Exhaling, I swipe to answer. “Hey, Mom.”

“You sound half-asleep,” she chastises.

I glance at the clock. 6:57 a.m. “I was.”

“Chellie, it’s nearly seven. What are you doing in bed?” Her voice softens with concern. “Are you sick?”

I rub my face. “Sleeping. Like a normal person.”

“You’re working too much,” she says automatically, and I swear I can hear the disapproving shake of her head. “When’s the last time you took a break? Or better yet, when’s the last time you came to see us?”

Guilt pricks at me. I don’t need to answer. We both know it’s been months. “I’ve been super busy.”

“You know, the restaurant doesn’t feel the same without you sitting at the bar on Saturday,” my dad shouts from the background.

My parents own Costa del Sol, a Spanish restaurant on the Tacoma waterfront. It always smells of saffron and garlic. My dad makes every guest feel like family and my mom runs the show with unshakable authority.

My younger brother, Lucas, now manages the business side, always in a pressed button-down, juggling spreadsheets and supplier calls. Our youngest sister, Rosa, runs the kitchen—commands it, really—turning out the best food in the city, if not the whole damn state. I should know, I’ve got the hips, thighs, and ass to show for it.

I used to be here every weekend until I let my career swallow me whole.

Mom continues, her voice gentler now. “Rosa says if you don’t come soon, she’s taking paella off the menu to spite you.”

“She wouldn’t dare.” I suck in a breath.

“Oh, she would,” Mom insists. “You know how she can be.”

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