Page 71 of Beneath the Desert Bloom
And then his mouth was on her.
Hot, slow, relentless.
His tongue slid through her like he’d been waiting forever to taste her again. Like he was memorizing every shiver, every ragged breath. The heat of his mouth was almost too much, but she couldn’t stop moving against him, couldn’t stop the way her hips rocked to meet every flick of his tongue.
One of his arms curled under her thigh, anchoring her open. The other slid up her torso and found her hand.
He laced their fingers.
Held tight.
And devoured her.
Nora cried out, her body arching. The way he sucked her clit into his mouth—soft at first, then harder, then soft again—made her legs tremble. She rocked against him, gasping, lost in the dizzy, raw ache.
The tip of his tongue circled her entrance, teasing.
Then slid in.
Slow. Deep.
She felt the size of him even in his mouth, like he was made to fill every part of her. Her body pulsed around him, every nerve lit up with impossible pleasure.
Then his mouth left her, just long enough for her to register the loss, to whimper—
—and his fingers replaced it.
One at first. Thick. Ridged. Other.
She cried out again.
It wasn’t just the stretch. It was the texture. The way his skin wasn’t skin. The way the bark-like ridges caught against the softest parts of her. The way her body welcomed it and still didn’t know how to handle it.
He moved slowly, pumping once, twice, curling slightly, finding the place that made her sob.
Then—another.
Two fingers now.
Thicker than anything she’d ever taken. Hot and textured like the desert had shaped them from root and stone. They filled her in a way that made her whole body jerk.
She spread her legs wider, breath shuddering, hands scrabbling for something to hold onto.
His mouth returned to her clit.
Soft again. Then hard.
The ridges inside her rubbed perfectly with the rhythm of his tongue.
Her cunt clenched. Her thighs trembled.
She came with a sound that didn’t belong to language—just wind, and want, and everything she’d been holding in for weeks.
And he didn’t stop.
His mouth moved slower now, circling her clit with aching tenderness, lapping at the wetness he’d coaxed from her. His fingers stilled, buried deep, pulsing faintly inside her with each wave of her release. She was shaking. Glowing. Open.
But not finished.
