Page 41 of Giovanni
“Good girl,” he murmurs against my flesh, our gaze connecting when my hand slips from his shoulder. “You’re already wet for me.”
“I am.”
I can scarcely breathe when the sharp points of his mustache scrap against my delicate flesh.
“I want to do everything.”
His eyes continue to bore into mine as I make requests. I have no idea how I’m going to handle them. He doesn’t sayanything. He merely continues to spoil me with his hot breath and skilled tongue. My entire body trembles, needing more.
His calloused hand slides up the back of my leg, stopping at the base of my butt and pulling my cheeks apart to reach my warm pussy. It’s shockingly intimate, accessing me from behind rather than the front, and my brain doesn’t know how to process it.
His fingers press into me, forcing my legs further apart and opening to him. My eyes close, my head falls back, and I relax into his expert fingers and tongue. I’m straddling his hand, suspended between riding it and rubbing my clit on his face. The more friction I create, the sloppier his actions get until he’s diving deeper, plunging his tongue roughly into my clit and making me the center of his attention.
He strokes every sensitive spot, sending waves of pleasure through my body. My hips buck against him uncontrollably as I lose myself in the euphoria of his touch and my orgasm. I ride it out until his tongue flattens against me with long swipes lapping up my cum. When it’s too sensitive to the touch, I pull away.
“That was amazing.”
I open my eyes to see those dark orbs staring at me.
“Yeah, it was. Now get on the bed.”
He stands swiftly, his knee popping at the fast action, which he ignores. His hand catches under my elbow, helping me to the edge of the bed.
Before lying down, I ask, “Why did you do that? Don’t get me wrong, I loved it, but I thought I was supposed to do you first.”
His hands plant on his hips, the V in the front of my face a promise of what’s to come, and my nervousness is making a comeback.
“Well, first off, I love tasting you, and I’ve wanted to do that all day. More importantly, you looked worried when we walked in here, and I wouldn’t say I liked it. I wanted to put you at ease.You always have the right to say no, Kacie. We agreed to me being in charge, but I won’t ask you to do things you don’t want to do. There’s no fun in that for either of us.”
His eyes meet mine, and I can see the sincerity there. He’s right. We agreed he would take charge, but I never expected it to mean this much. He’s genuinely concerned about my feelings and comfort, making me feel appreciated and cared for. All the books talk about this when they say partners need to communicate. It’s all he and I do, and I’m very fond of it.I appreciate his perspective and give him a bright grin.
“Let’s have more fun.”
I flop onto my stomach, my body making a flatulence sound against the sheets, which has me mortified. He belts out a laugh so loud that I’m forced to chuckle along with him.
“You’re adorable, Kacie.”
I prop myself on my elbows to look over my shoulder at him. He’s busy staring at my butt while laughing. It makes me feel silly, fun, and carefree all at the same time. What a glorious feeling to be truly accepted, weight gain and all.
“I’m going to go get my oils. Make yourself comfortable.”
I comply, lying face down on the bed, feeling the softness of the sheets against my skin and the fluffy pillow under my head. The soft light from the bathroom offers just enough illumination, creating a sensual atmosphere. It seems like only a few seconds when music strums through the speakers in his ceiling.
I sense his presence by the side of the bed until it dips under his weight. He straddles me, his bare cock poking into my butt, and I squirm in anticipation of everything yet to come.
I hear the subtle sound of him dispensing massage oil, and then I feel the warmth of his hands on my back. His touch is firm yet gentle. His skilled fingers work their way across my tensemuscles. The sensation is relaxing and invigorating, easing the stress and tension from the day.
“Let me know if the pressure is too much.”
“It’s perfect,” I hum, melting under his touch.
His hands move confidently, each stroke and knead bringing a deeper relaxation. My nervousness dissipates as he works on my shoulders and neck. His ability to tune into my needs, to put me before him, is a gift in and of itself. I can’t recall ever meeting such a selfless guy. The fact that his family can’t see this in him is beyond me and something I want to help him with.
The massage continues, his movements in tune with the melody of the music, and just as I’m about to fall asleep, his hands sweep down to my butt to massage my cheeks. He mutters about holding tension in where the leg joins the body, moving my knee out, and manipulating the hip joint until I’m moaning in a different type of pleasure.
I’ve never had my butt, hip, and inner outer thigh massaged like this, but damn if it doesn’t feel almost as good as an orgasm. He continues to explain that sitting for long hours causes the muscles to tighten, thus becoming shorter—one of many reasons why sitting is the new smoking.
I’m half listening, thoroughly enjoying, and when he hits a deeper section with his elbow, I inhale a quick breath. It’s an odd mix of pain and pleasure, and the more he rubs out the hurt, the better it feels until I’m putty in his hands.
