Page 33 of Blood Heir

The wet sounds of my tongue and fingers working her fill the air, obscene, raw, and I swear I can feel her getting wetter with every cry that leaves her mouth. My tongue circles her clit faster now, flicking, sucking, dragging across her sensitive nub with practiced precision.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, please—” she whimpers, her voice thin and high, desperate. “I’m—I’m gonna come; I can’t—don’t stop—please—oh, God—”

I growl into her folds, my fingers pumping harder as I suck her clit into my mouth, letting my lips seal around it, tongue flicking furiously. She arches off the couch, thighs squeezing around my face, her entire body going stiff and tight.

Then she shatters.

Her orgasm crashes over her like a wave, slamming into her so hard she screams my name, her thighs trembling violently around my head, her cunt pulsing rhythmically around my fingers.

“Ahhh—fuck—yes—oh, my God!” she cries, her voice raw, choked with pleasure. Her entire body spasms beneath my hands, slick gushing against my fingers, coating my lips, my chin, soaking my face in her release.

I don’t stop. I keep lapping her up, drinking her in, sucking and flicking her clit as she rides out every pulse, every ripple of pleasure until her body finally goes limp beneath me.

Her breath comes in broken, ragged sobs, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her hand stays tangled in my hair, as though she can’t quite let go of me yet.

I pull back slightly, my face wet and glistening with her. Her slickness coats my lips, my beard, my tongue still savoring the lingering taste of her as I breathe heavily, staring up at her wrecked, beautiful face.

She looks down at me, flushed, panting, her eyes dazed with aftershocks of bliss.

“God…” she whispers, voice trembling. “You’re—fuck—you’re perfect.”

I swallow thickly, my chest pounding, and I know:

I would stay between her thighs forever if she let me.

She lies there for a moment, her breath returning, her chest rising and falling as little tremors still ripple through her legs. My face is still slick with her, my lips tingling, my jaw tight from how long I devoured her—but I don't care.

Then her eyes open. She looks at me with that quiet, dangerous satisfaction—soft and dominant all at once. The kind of look that makes my pulse spike. She sits up slowly, watching me, her body glowing with the afterglow of her orgasm, her skin flushed and dewy. She reaches down, casually plucking her panties off the floor.

For a moment, I think she’s going to slip them back on. But she doesn’t. Instead, she walks over to me, towering above me as I remain kneeling at her feet. She dangles her panties in front of me like a reward.

“You were a good boy,” she murmurs. Her voice is a sweet razor blade—soft but cutting, laced with power.

She places the damp fabric in my open hand, the warmth of her release still clinging to it. Then she turns and walks away, hips swaying, leaving me kneeling there like the desperate, hungry man I am.

The second she’s gone, I stare at the panties. They’re still warm. Still soaked in her scent. The fabric is thin and lacy, the crotch darkened with her wetness, the smell hitting me instantly—rich, musky, sharp, intoxicating. It’s like she’s still here, hovering over me. My mouth waters again, my cock already rock-hard, throbbing painfully against my jeans.

I can’t help myself.

My breath is heavy as I stand, unbuttoning my pants quickly. The zipper drags down with a soft rasp, and my cock springs free, flushed and swollen, desperate for attention.

I fist my length instantly, the head slick with pre-cum. My hand wraps around my shaft, stroking at first, and I bring the panties to my face, inhaling deeply. Her scent floods my senses, overwhelming, raw, and intimate.

I groan, unable to hold it in. My hand moves faster, stroking firmly as my other hand clutches the panties tighter, pressing them against my face.

“Fuck…” I whisper, my voice trembling with lust. “God, you smell so fucking good.”

The slippery silk of the fabric rubs against my lips as I breathe her in, tongue flicking out to taste the faint saltiness left behind. My mind flashes back to the way she moaned under my mouth, the way her thighs had trembled, the helpless cries she spilled into the room as she came for me.

My cock twitches in my fist at the memory, and I stroke harder, faster now. The wet squelch of my own arousal mixes with my panting breath.

I close my eyes. I see her again—her body spread open, flushed and shaking, her eyes glazed with pleasure as she whimpers my name. The image pushes me closer, my strokes growing more frantic, my muscles tightening as my orgasm builds.

“Oh, fuck…” I groan, breath ragged. “Fuck…I’m gonna—”

With one last desperate gasp, I explode, my release pulsing thick and hot over my hand and stomach, the spasms shaking through my whole body as I pant into her panties, still pressed against my face.

I ride out every last wave, my hand slowing, my knees nearly buckling beneath me. My skin prickles with heat, my chest heaving, my senses still drowning in the smell and taste of her.

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