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Her thick thighs clamp around my head, her magnificent pussy pulses around my finger, slick floods my tongue, and I drink every drop. I lick her slower and softer through all of it until she’s twitching and whimpering and shoving my head away.
When I finally sit back on my heels, she’s sprawled across her kitchen table, dress up around her waist, one arm thrown over her eyes. Bread on the floor. Salt all over. Her underwear on a shelf.
“Hattie.”
“Gimme a minute.”
“You okay?”
She drops her arm and stares at me. “Rowan. You’ve been alive for, what, two weeks?”
“About an hour, technically.”
“An hour.” She laughs, sounding a little hysterical. “And you just ate my pussy better than any man could if he had a hundred years to learn and a map of the female body.”
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, then lick my knuckles clean, because I’m not wasting any of her.
“I watched a lot of humans fuck in my shade,” I tell her. “Most of them were shit at it. I took notes.”
She stares at me. Then she grabs my shirt and drags me back up.
* * *
I think I carry her to the bed… I’m not totally sure. She’s kissing me the whole way, licking her own taste off my tongue and moaning about it. It’s a miracle I don’t walk us both straight into the wall.
What I remember is her dress going over her head. Her perfect breasts spilling out, heavy and soft, nipples dark and tight, and me taking one into my mouth because it was right there and I’m no fool. Then her fingers fighting with my shirt buttons until she mutters “fuck these” and rips the whole thing open.
Buttons everywhere. Good. Buttons and I were never going to get along, anyway.
Then her palms are sliding over my chest, following the grain of my skin.
“You’re so warm,” she whispers. “I thought wood would be cold.”
I rasp, “Not a fucking table.”
She snorts. “I’m aware.”
Her hands slide down my stomach, then lower, till she yanks my pants open, my cock springs free, and she goes dead still.
“Oh,” she murmurs.
I look down. Yeah. It’s big. Thick, dark, heavy, the grain running down it in soft ridges, the knot already swelling at the base. Mother Wren really sat down and thought about this one.
“Oh,” Hattie says again faintly. “I really did ask for that, huh?”
I cock a brow.
“I did say very.”
“So you’re getting very.”
She wraps her hand around me, and I have to slap a palm on the wall to stay on my feet.
Her fingers don’t even meet. She’s stroking me slowly, from root to tip, frowning a little, clearly doing some very worried math. And I’m learning a lot of things very fast. Like how her hand on my cock beats every spring I’ve ever had, all at once.
A bead of something warm and clear wells up at the tip. She swipes it with her thumb, and then, because she’s clearly trying to kill me before I’m even a day old, she sucks her thumb into her mouth.
“Sweet,” she says, surprised. “Kinda like sap.”
