“Your tongue was. . .everything.”
I exhaled sharply, trying to think, trying to remind myself that thiswasour first night together, that I shouldtake my time with her.
But patience was a thin, frayed thread now, stretched to its limit.
“But, I wanted to do this right.” I licked my lips. “Because you’re not some quick fuck in the back of a car. You’re a goddamn meal. And I want tofeast.”
“Fabien, you can feastallyou want to.”
And that was that.
I had that fur off her so fast, she gasped.
It fell to the floor with my coat.
Then, I grabbed the front of her shimmering pink gown and pulled it down in one very rough motion, exposing her.
Mon dieu.
Her breasts.
Full.
Heavy.
Perfect.
Mine.
I had always considered myself a man of refined tastes, drawn to the finer things in life—art, luxury, a perfect meal, a well-aged wine.
But this?
This was something beyond indulgence.
Her H-cup breasts, full and luscious, spilled from the delicate pink lace of her bra, the intricate embroidery barely containing the sheer magnificence of her curves.
My cock throbbed painfully at the sight, stiffening so hard it nearly made me dizzy.
The biggest.
The most beautiful.
I had never seen, never touched, never even imagined anything like them.
And now that I had her in front of me, standing there with that rich dark brown skin wrapped in silk and lace, those breasts plush and heavy, the dusky peaks teasing me through the lace—I would never let them go.
My jaw tightened as I fought the primal, animalistic urge to claim them with my mouth, my hands, my tongue—all at once.
I reached out, almost reverent, tracing my fingers along the scalloped lace, feeling the decadent weight of her breasts beneath my touch.
Soft.
So impossibly soft, yet so firm, so full, as if they had been sculpted for the sole purpose of filling my hands, my mouth, my obsession.
"Mon amour. . ." My voice came out low, guttural, thick with pure, unfiltered desire.
She shifted as if she could feel the madness she had ignited in me.