Page 18 of The Cerulean Sister
I pull at the ties of his pants, more difficult with the taut pull of fabric.
He shifts his hips as I work to free him, until his cock finally bobs out of the constraints, standing upright.
I trail a finger down the side where a predominant vein dances, then wrap my hand around the scorching base—he is thick and perfect here.
His breath hitches through gritted teeth and his hips jerk in response to my touch.
"Continue." I bite my lip to hide just how turned on it makes me to see him like this, clothed in his powerful Viathan armor, helmet slanted down to watch me. The only part of him free and exposed is his impossibly stiff cock begging for my full attention.
And that's exactly what I intend to give.
He breath hitches in a sharp inhale through his teeth as I stroke him agonizingly slow. The velvety skin of his shaft responds in a surge of heat to the firm pump of my hand.
The thought of tasting him becomes a coiling need, and even his scent here, masculine and musky, makes me wet. If I don'ttake him in my mouth soon, the fire that's building between my legs will overtake me.
"Let me show you," he begs.
"No, keep talking," I counter and lick a slow line from the base upward.
He jumps slightly, his hand gripping the leather of the bench on either side.
When I reach the spot I know is sensitive for him, where his shaft meets the full head, a bead of cum is already weeping from the tip. I eagerly lick it, explicitly swiping it across the surface of my tongue while looking up at him.
"I thought of exactly this," he groans.
Encouraged, I swirl my tongue around the broad head, slicking a path for my palm to stroke down to the hilt. I'm determined to make him lose control, now that I know exactly what he likes.
"Ferren." The sound he makes is guttural.
"Ferren?" I run my tongue down his shaft. "So very informal in this place of worship."
"Priestess . . . Ferren."
I tongue the underside, kissing and nipping up the length. "Yes, Commander?"
"You are undoing me." He sounds desperate, his deep voice almost pleading for me to stop teasing him. I am bowed on bent knees, as if in worship, but I am in total control of his pleasure and he knows it.
I close my lips in a tight ring and draw down, his width pulling at the corners of my mouth. I could never take him fully this way, so I use one hand to stroke down in tandem to reach the base that does not fit.
I suck my cheeks in and keep them hollow, wanting to pull him tighter. His hand goes to the back of my neck to gently guide me.
When the strain is too much, I pause and lick the tip of his head as I stroke him, watching his visor never leave its focus on me.
"Priestess . . . Stay still for a moment."
I stare up at him, trying to withdraw his cock from my mouth, thinking there is something wrong, but his hand stills on my neck, making me stay in place.
"Wider," he commands.
I obey and open my mouth with him rested inside.
"You look so pretty like that."
I can see my reflection in his visor, his thick cock sitting on my tongue, my eyes watery, face flushed and dazed with lust for him. I smile around it when I feel his small thrusts.
I don't wait for him to tell me to continue, now taking him as deep as I can go.
He slams his clenched fist into the leather of the bench, curses, and then moans my name. His head dips back involuntarily, hissing through gritted teeth, about to lose himself.
