Page 99 of Salt Kiss
I grab her jaw and tilt her up for a deep kiss, satisfying myself with tasting her mouth for a long moment before I take her lower lip between my teeth and bite.
Hard.
She comes again with an animal noise, her lip still between my teeth, her thighs wide as she desperately humps against my hand, her dress everywhere, just fucking everywhere, and my cock hurts so much, my whole body hurts. I let go of her lip and lick at it as she continues to convulse around my fingers, and then I pull back to watch her.
She’s an absolute mess right now, tangled hair and red eyes and drenched pussy, and oh my God, I can’t believe I never thought to imagine this, a wrecked heiress riding my hand like her life depends on it.
When she finally goes still, inside and out, I withdraw my fingers and then suck them clean. I nearly die at the taste: salt and honey and something else that has no name because it’s justher.
She watches me with hooded eyes, and then I push my hand into the bodice of her dress. I find a stiff nipple and tease it with wet fingers. I tug just enough to make her whimper again.
“I want to fuck your cunt,” I hear myself say.
“I’ve never done that before,” she confesses.
“Even though you have a safeword?” I ask. Given that Mark had me facedown on a rug within weeks of meeting me, I’d assumed he and Isolde had done all sorts of things together, had done everything together.
She shakes her head. “The safeword was a precaution. Everything we did, we did as a performance, to sell the story of our marriage.” A shadow crosses her face. “Except for one time.”
I think about this, about where this leaves us.
“I haven’t done this either,” I admit. “I might be really bad at it.”
She glances down to my hand in her dress, to her spread thighs. Her cheeks are pink. “I think we’ve just established that you’re pretty good at things you’ve never done.”
I laugh a little, letting go of her breast to band an arm around her waist and haul her against me. I can’t stop touching her, grabbing her. There’s so much of her I want, and I want it all at once.
“Mark keeps his room well-stocked,” I say, running my nose over her cheek, burying it in her hair. Her hair smells like honey too—sweet, sweet, sweet. “He has condoms in there.”
And then I pause, realizing I never actually asked. “If you want.”
“I want you inside me,” she says against my collarbone. “And I have an IUD.”
“That’s not very Catholic of you.” My hands are busy, grabbing her waist, smoothing her hair, squeezing her ass through her dress.
She huffs out a noise. “It’s not like a condom is any better, at least according to the pope.”
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” I say, and I reluctantly let go of her to get to my feet. But she stops me with a hand on my wrist.
“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. We don’t need a condom,” she whispers.
Images of my orgasm all over her fill my mind. Of my semen dripping from her, white from pink. My dick jerks against the linen, my balls pulling tight to my body, and I groan. Mark’s words from months ago echo through my mind.
Breeding kinks.
Yes, it’s a thing of mine. But exchanging fluids like this isn’t a small thing. At Lyonesse, I’ve heard of partners waiting years to do it. Mark and I haven’t even done it.
I pull back, cradling Isolde’s face in my hands so I can see her expression. “Are you sure?”
Her face is open like I’ve so rarely seen it before tonight. The moonlight catches the lighter threads in her irises and turns them silver. “I’m sure,” she says softly, and I groan again.
“I want it so much,” I say, and I’m already reaching for her skirt again, ready to lay her down on the deck and crawl between her thighs.
“Here?” she asks before I can.
“I can’t wait.” And then I take her hand and press it to my throbbing cock, hissing as she wraps her hand around it. I don’t know how long I’ll last inside her cunt. Not long, I think.
“I have an idea,” she says, and then presses a kiss to my jaw.
