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Chapter 25
David
It’s just like that scene from Beauty and the Beast with the golden ball gown and ‘Tale as old as time…’ Or at least, it would be if the Beast was ripping that pretty little ball gown to shreds and diving snout-first into Belle’s dripping wet French muff.
What can I say? A man wants what a man wants. So, when I decide that I want Vivienne Taylor—my fiancée, my bride, and my future queen—bare-ass naked on my ballroom floor…
It’s like a fucking magic act. One minute, she’s in my arms, fully clothed; the next, she’s writhing beneath me on the cold, sleek marble without a stitch of clothing on her body, and her little lace panties stuffed in her mouth.
“That’s better,” I growl, tucking the last bit of lace between her soft pink lips.
I wonder for a moment what color my interior decorator would call the lipstick she’s wearing—rose, blush, or rouge?
Fuck it. I might still be learning the nuances of color names—but what I can tell you is that Vivienne’s lipstick color isn’t going to matter for much longer.
I capture her lips with mine, nice and hard. When I pull away, that same lipstick is smeared from the corner of her mouth all the way across her cheek.
Just like her clothes—whatever lipstick she’s wearing, she won’t be wearing it for long.
“Let’s spread you open, love,” I suggest next, and Vivienne moans deeply into the lace of her panties as I take her knees in my broad, strong palms and separate them roughly. “Christ…you smell incredible.”
Like jasmine and honeysuckle. Sweet, heady musk on a late spring day.
She’s fucking ripe for me.
I dive in like a debutante dives into bottomless mimosas at Sunday brunch.
“I love you,” I snarl against the soft pink lips of Vivienne’s cunt. They’re already slick and sticky with want, and they’re about to get even stickier. “I love you. I fucking love you.”
Vivienne moans something that sounds like it might be a profession of love of her own—not that there’s any way of telling. I’ve got her panties stuffed in her mouth for a reason—this isn’t about what she wants or how she feels right now.
Whether she believes it or not, Vivienne has always worn her sweet little heart on her sleeve. Maybe other people can’t see it—but this woman was made for me. I’ve had her figured out from day one.
If I didn’t believe it back then, I sure as fuck know it now.
Of course, she fucking loves me. I don’t need her to verify what’s been written in the stars, between her legs and all over her gorgeous, perfect face all along.
But after some of the shit I’ve pulled…
“I fucking love you,” I repeat one last time—just so she can be sure of it, too.
And then, my mouth is too busy to say anything at all. Exactly as it fucking should be.
I suck her clit between my lips, lashing at it with my tongue and reveling in the way it makes her coo and hiss and thrash. Her hips buck against me so hard, it’s almost as if she wants me to stop; but then her fingers wrap around the back of my head, pulling my mouth harder against her sensitive, swollen clit. I reward her by licking her even harder.
Faster. With even more feeling.
My fingers curl around Vivienne’s perfect hips and press them down roughly. If she wants to fucking come, then she’ll have to forgive me the manhandling.
I’ll be damned if I have to pose for our next round of engagement photos with a swollen lip from making her orgasm too hard—although, I still have to admit that I’d enjoy the heyday the press would have with that story.
I enjoy everything with Vivienne, though. Scandal or no.
My hands slide up her stomach as I suck and lick and nibble her closer and closer to the explosion of pleasure I know we both want her sweet little pussy to feel. I tease her nipples with my fingers, massage her tits, make love to her with my hands—
But when the time comes and I feel her getting close, I can’t fucking help myself.
I make Vivienne Taylor’s hot, soaking wet pussy come in trembling, body-shaking waves against my mouth while I wrap my royal fingers around her slutty little throat.
