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I almost let out a delirious laugh, but then his thumb kneads a knot of tension from the arch of my foot. My back involuntarily arches and the sound emitting from my throat is pure pleasure.
“Oh, God… fuck…”
An appreciative growl rumbles low in his chest. His other hand joins the first, and he draws another writhe, another moan from me.
When I open my eyes to look at him, the whimper that slips from my lips has nothing to do with the way he’s touching me…
And everything to do with the way he’slookingat me.
Demyen rests my foot on his shoulder. His mouth is only inches from my skin, and his fingers lazily trace the curve of my calf.
Up and down.
Up and down.
But his gaze never leaves my face. His eyes flicker between mine and my mouth, and by the way the heat flares in those stormy irises as my dress pools around my hips…
I can only imagine what he’s seeing.
I can only imagine what he’s thinking.
And Iliketo imagine what he might be thinking about me as he turns his face and presses the softest of kisses to the side of my foot.
He still hasn’t looked away from me, and I don’t want him to. My heart is slamming against my ribcage, and I know I must be blushing fifty shades of shy insecurity, but I want him to see it. I want him to hear it.
Somehow, deep in my soul, I know that I’m safe. Here. With him.
Andthatfeeling is entirely new.
His fingers slide up a bit more, closer to my knee, then stop. I feel the way my skin sticks to his at the same time his brow twitches with curiosity.
Ah, fuck.“Oh, umm… The, ah… champagne…thing…” I’m immediately humiliated all over again now that I realize I’mcovered in dry bubbly. He’s perfectly clean, and I’m a sticky mess of bundled nerves.
I try to slip my foot away, but he tightens his grip. Not hard, but just enough to let me know he’s not letting me go any time soon.
Demyen leans forward, and I’m ready for him to scold me for my clumsiness.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he glides his tongue over that sweet stickiness. Slow. Warm. Wet. Then finishes it off with a sucking kiss just behind my knee.
That right there is enough fantasy fuel to last the rest of my life.
Except he’s not finished.
Not by a long shot.
Now, it’s a game for him—finding where rivulets of expensive champagne have dried on my skin and licking each one up. He starts with a massaging press of his fingers and wherever he feels the stickiness, he dips his head to swipe his warm tongue across my flesh.
I’m trying my damned hardest to keep my breathing in check. To not squirm so wantonly on the bed, or let out so many breathless moans whenever he licks and kisses a sensitive spot.
But by the time he’s “cleaned” both legs, his lips are caressing my thigh and I’m a quivering, simpering mess.
I’ve never been with any man save for Martin.
And Martin never,evertouched me like this.
Demyen rubs his hands over my hips in one smooth motion, pushing my dress up higher until he can see my panties. They’re not sexy or seductive by any means. I’m almost too embarrassed by them to let him continue.
