Page 106 of My Dark Ever After
Raffa grunted as I spasmed around him, his cock swelling even harder inside me moments before I felt the hot kick of cum flooding my pussy. The sensation made my walls flutter in the aftermath, almost a second, smaller orgasm on the heels of the first.
“I love the feel of your cum inside me,” I murmured, grinding my hips back into his so little shudders of pleasure emanated from our connection.
Raffa pulled back from my neck to stare at me, his cheeks flushed, a lock of wavy dark hair hanging into his pupil-blown eyes. There was a wicked promise in that look that said he wasn’t done with me yet.
I gasped when he pushed a finger inside me next to his slowly softening dick. He raised it, glistening with our combined cum, between us in offering.
Without hesitation, I leaned forward to suck it into my mouth, fellating it the way I would his shaft. From up close, I watched his flush deepen as he studied me.
“We taste so good,” I murmured, chasing his finger when he pulled it from my mouth. “You don’t even know.”
“No?” he asked, a slow smile tugging his mouth. “Let me see, then, shall I?”
Before I could process his intent, Raffa was on one knee, his hands clasping my ass to tilt my wet pussy into his mouth. I gaped down at his dark head between my thighs, his tongue inside me and his groan a palpable vibration against my swollen folds.
“OhmyGod,” I slurred, unbelievably aroused by the sight of him eating his cum out of me, humming as if the flavor of us together was the best taste in the world. “Fuck, Raffa, that is so hot.”
He threw my legs over his shoulders to ease me down from the branch so he could have better access, and I curled over him, hands clutched in his silken hair to pin him close. His resulting groan urged me to hold him tighter, grinding down against his tongue as he fucked it inside me.
“Dio mio, you’re going to make me come again,” I said with a hitch of breath as the tension in my womb wrenched tighter and tighter.
Already I was so close to the breaking point, my thighs quaked.
Raffa’s fingers dug almost painfully into my ass, the bite of hurt only sending me higher.
“Vienimi sulla lingua,” he encouraged roughly before placing a wet, sucking kiss on my clit.
Come on my tongue.
I broke open like pottery dropped to the earth. Only Raffa’s hands and mouth kept me from falling apart, the two points of contact like glue holding me together. I trembled around his tongue, the wet sound of his mouth sucking up my juices driving me higher.
“Oh God,” I cried, and I meant him.
Raffa, the only god who mattered to me. King Below. The most powerful man I knew, on his knees for me again to bring me inconceivable levels of pleasure.
When I was just a shivering, oversensitized collection of atoms in his embrace, Raffa carefully stood up with me in his arms, my legs listless around his hips, my hands loosely wound around his neck.
“I think you killed me,” I said softly. “When I said I would die for you, I didn’t exactly mean at your own hands.”
His chuckle moved over me like sunlight as he sat on the ground at the base of the tree with me in his lap. Once settled, he tugged my arms down so he could gently massage the stiffness out of my fingers.
“A good death, though, I think.” His smile was small and wicked, lips still glossed with us.
I leaned forward to kiss him, wanting to taste us too.
He hummed with satisfaction, palming the back of my head as he let me slide my tongue over his lips and then between his teeth.
“We taste good together,” I admitted when I pulled back. “I think that was the hottest thing that has ever happened to me.”
He cocked a brow. “Even more so than when I fucked you in every one of your sweet holes that last night at the palazzo?”
I shivered at the memory even as a blush stamped its heat into my cheeks. “Okay, maybe not.”
His laugh was a smug rumble. “I promise to give you many more salacious memories. Now that you are staying.”
The last wasn’t said as a question, but I could read the lingering tension in his body at the words. So I cupped his handsome face between my hands, thumbs rasping through the short beard he’d grown, the way I’d wanted to do since I’d first seen him in Ann Arbor again.
“I can’t promise I won’t ever be scared or need some time or space to process, but I can promise that space won’t be the Atlantic Ocean and that time won’t be two months.”
