Page 178 of Branded
Lipstick I was going to finish kissing off her in short order.
But first?—
I let the boot drop, repeated my trek with my mouth. The zipper on her other boot slowly inching down, lips and mouth and tongue moving on her skin.
Teeth on her sensitive flesh.
The soft hiss of her breath. Her hips rocking on the mattress, seeking purchase as I moved, tugging the boot free, massaging her foot for a few moments.
The jersey had rucked up, exposing those panties, the curve of her belly.
And for once, it wasn’t a source of pain and grief.
It was beautiful, her body creating something that had been made out of love—love of a father and mother, love of a friend—her body protecting and housing and growing.
Because I was seeing that she was a woman who cared and gave and sacrificed herself.
Because I was seeing that, seeing that she very rarely took, and getting her to do so was a battle because it was so foreign to her.
Because I was seeing that I was going to have to be the man to give that to her.
Starting now.
Starting with this moment.
I wrapped my fingers around her ankles, tugged, drawing her ass toward the side of the mattress, positioning her so I could kiss her exactly where I was so desperate to.
“Raph,” she gasped, but I had her right where I wanted, right where we both needed, and that was on the edge of the bed, her pussy mere centimeters from my mouth. Close enough that I could see the lace was soaked. Close enough I could smell the tangy, fruity scent of her. Close enough that I could reach for the waistband of her panties and yank them down her legs, let them fall free off her ankles, drop to the floor. “Honey,” she began, hands pushing lightly at my shoulders. “I’ve been out all day and haven’t washed up?—”
I dragged my tongue through her folds. “Tastes fucking good to me, sugarpie.”
She shivered. “Okay.” It was a whisper, a heated one, so I dragged my tongue through her labia again, tasting her, getting her used to my touch, watching her face and body to find the spots that had her squirming, trying not to get distracted by the round globes of her breasts peeking out from where the jersey was bunched up.
Already, my cock was aching.
Already, my hands were shaking.
Already, I wanted to cover her with my body, plunge deep over and over again and let blissful oblivion overtake me.
But I didn’t move from my knees at the edge of the bed. I just kept licking and stroking, and when I found a spot that had her hips shifting, grinding against my mouth, her lips parting, her moans slipping into the air, I arrowed in, put all my focus there.
“Raph,” she whispered. “Fuck, honey. That’s?—”
I sucked on that spot on her labia.
“Fuck. I—oh, my God—” Her neck arched, head pressing back into the pillows.
And I kept going, sucking firmly and then darting my tongue to her clit, flicking and pressing there, bringing my thumb into the action so I could hit both her clit and that spot in tandem. Then I was barely in my own body at all, barely on the planet.
My next breath existed solely for the purpose of making this woman come.
Circles with my tongue. Suction with my mouth. Sliding into her tight wet heat with my finger. Fighting for control when her pussy clamped down hard.
“Honey.” Her body jerked.
I pressed it in, slid it out, circling her entrance, pumping slow and steady and?—
“Honey.”
