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He kisses down one thigh to my knee. Slow barely describes the way he moves. It’s more languid, as if there is no other care or concern for him. No other thought in his world except giving the kiss he is engaged in all of his attention. He nibbles, licks, kisses and works his way down. When he reaches my knee and finishes there he shifts to my other leg and repeats the process, working his way back up to my hip.
While he does this I relax. As I do I run my hands through his hair, onto his shoulders, then as I become even more comfortable I touch his horns. I’ve been wondering what they feel like since I first saw him and now I softly run my fingers up and down them.
They are bone, clearly, with concentric ridges that start at the base of his skull and rise to the pointy tip. His, unlike some of the Zmaj, are very pointed at the end. I imagine they could be used to deadly effect, but that’s a distant thought as he is kissing across my lower belly, just above my bikini line.
I wiggle my hips as his lips both tickle and delight. He grumbles a low sound of pure pleasure. He has his hands on my thighs and is running them up and down. Almost involuntarily I part my legs wider. It wasn’t a conscious action but at the same time it is an invitation. I am ready. Ready for him to go all the way.
He pauses, glancing up to me, and biting my lip I nod. His smile is quick and brilliant. I expected him to dive right in, but again that’s old memories of Hank, not Mohlad. He resumes kissing my belly and slowly, so, so slowly works his way lower while moving side-to-side.
He ends up on my left thigh but his warm breath is flowing over my wet lips. I tremble in anticipation, ready. Wanting. Needing.
Then he moves in, still slow. He pauses just over my pussy and chooses that moment to look up the length of me and into my eyes. Embarrassment surges but he has a soft smile and his eyes dance with delight.
“Beautiful,” he whispers then lowers himself into my pussy.
He licks from as low as he can go all the way to the top, not piercing my folds with his tongue, but lapping up the moisture that has leaked out. He groans with deep pleasure. His tail slaps the ground repeatedly.
I lose myself to his tender ministrations as he slowly works my pussy like some kind of magician. Licking over and over until his tongue is piercing deep inside of my pink folds. He works and works at it, never staying on one place or keeping any fixed position.
He approaches and retreats from my protruding clitoris over and over and part of me wants him to land there and work it until this building orgasm breaks, but the other part of me is fully invested in his own approach. His time taking, building, slow working that makes me feel so much like a coiling spring tightening to an intense pressure, ready to break free.
I wriggle, moan, tug his hair, and dig my nails into his shoulders and still he continues to work his magic. It is incredible. My body is on fire. My skin burns, my thoughts are scattered, the pleasure is so intense I am little more than putty in his hands.
When my orgasm comes it takes me by surprise. I’ve felt it building for so long it had become a white noise but then it hits and when it does, it comes hard. There is nothing but pleasure.
My back arches, toes curl, and as I slowly come back to awareness I realize that I’ve locked onto his horns and am bucking against his face while using them to keep him pressed hard into my pussy. I drop back onto the blankets and let him go, more than a little out of sorts.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
“No,” he says as he shifts around until he is lying beside me, his head resting on one hand. “Sorry, no.”
I try to smile but another aftershock of orgasmic pleasure leaves me shivering with pleasure. He runs his fingers through my hair. A surprisingly gentle gesture. I roll onto my side too so we’re facing each other. In the edge of my vision I see his erection, rock hard and pointing at me. A smile spreads over my face, but at the same time doubts are swirling in my head.
“What are we doing?” I ask, wanting more, wanting to give more, but I have to know this first. Know, for certain, that I won’t be hurting him.
8
MARGARET
He frowns, then shakes his head.
“Loving. Not good? I bad did?” he asks.
“No!” I exclaim. “Oh no, no,” I shake my head. “Good. Great. Very, very good. But…”
I trail off uncertain what to say now. The thoughts that fill my head are not worries for me, but for him. How is it fair for me to pull him into my life, to make him love me, or at least be my lover, when I’m so much older than he is? After all, how long have I got left, especially compared to him? I feel like a selfish bitch and the one thing I’ve tried to never be in my life is selfish.
I lay here in the dim light staring into his brilliant, beautiful eyes as the most amazing orgasm of my entire life fades and I can’t help but wonder what I think I’m doing. He deserves better. More. He deserves everything, a long life with a woman who can love him for more years than I have to offer.
“But?” he asks, his fingers trailing through my hair, over my shoulder and down.
“But,” I pause because his fingers trail over my ass in a teasingly attractive manner and a shiver tracks up my spine. After it passes I take a second to gather my thoughts. “You. You’re so young.”
I press my hand to his chest, wanting with every fiber of my being to trail my fingers lower, grab onto his cock and give back all the pleasure he’s given to me, but I can’t just do that. I can’t ignore this. He grunts and shakes his head, continuing to trace circles on my skin with his fingertips. He’s slowly working his way back towards my pussy, I think.
“Young? No,” he shakes his head. “Epis.”
“Epis? Look at you. You’re young, so much younger than me. I’m…” I trail off unwilling to say the word, but it’s the thing that’s echoing through my head.
