Page 51 of Nansar
"I've got you," I murmured against her hair, breathing in her scent as I carried her to the sleeping platform. I laid her down gently, treating her like the treasure she was, then knelt beside her, my hands already trembling with the effort of restraint.
The borrowed dress she wore fastened with simple ties at the side. I found them with careful fingers, never breaking eye contact. "Tell me if you want me to stop," I said, my voice low and serious. "At any point. Promise me, Chloe."
"I promise," she breathed, the word barely audible.
I loosened the first tie with aching slowness, then the second, giving her every opportunity to change her mind. The fabric parted like a whisper, revealing the pale silk of her skin and those intriguing lacy undergarments from her world. I eased the dress down her shoulders, along her arms, letting it pool at her waist before sliding it down the length of her legs and setting it aside.
She lay before me in nothing but those delicate scraps of lace, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession, her cheeks flushed the most becoming shade of pink.
Beautiful didn't begin to cover it.
"These too?" I asked, my fingers hovering at the edge of the lacy garment covering her breasts, waiting for permission I would never take for granted.
She nodded, her voice caught somewhere in her throat.
I found the clasp—a strange mechanism, but I was nothing if not determined—and drew it away, baring her to my hungry gaze. Her breasts were perfection itself, soft and full, crowned with dark pink nipples already peaked and begging for attention. I couldn't resist leaning down to press a reverent kiss to the curve of one, then the other, feeling the delicious shiver that ran through her entire body.
"Cold?" I asked, though I knew better.
"No," she whispered, her voice threaded with desire. "Not cold."
I smiled against her skin and continued my exploration, trailing kisses down her sternum, across her ribs, feeling every muscle jump and quiver beneath my lips. When I reached the last barrier—that final scrap of lace clinging to her hips—I hooked my fingers in the sides and paused, giving her one more chance to stop this.
"Yes," she said before I could even form the question, lifting her hips to help me slide them down and away.
And then she was completely bare before me, vulnerable and trusting and so breathtakingly beautiful I nearly forgot to breathe. The scent of her arousal hit me like a physical force, intoxicating and addictive. I settled between her thighs, pressing them gently apart with trembling hands, watching her face as I lowered my head. Her skin was impossibly soft and warm beneath my palms, and I felt the slight tremor running through her—anticipation mixed with nervousness, desire warring with uncertainty.
But I didn't rush. I couldn't. This moment was too precious, too sacred to hurry through like some fumbling youngling. I pressed my lips to her belly first, just above her navel, feeling the muscles flutter beneath my kiss. Her breath hitched, and I smiled against her skin, trailing my mouth lower, then to the side, tracing the curve where her hip met her abdomen.
"Nansar," she whispered, my name a plea and a question all at once.
"Shh," I murmured against her skin. "Let me worship you properly."
I kissed along the crease where her thigh joined her body, deliberately avoiding where she most wanted my attention. Her fingers tangled in my hair, not pulling, just holding on like I was her anchor in a storm. I turned my attention to the inside of her left thigh, pressing open-mouthed kisses against that tender flesh, feeling her pulse racing beneath my lips. She was so soft here, so delicate, and I took my time, savoring every inch, every small sound she made.
When I switched to her other thigh, she made a frustrated noise that went straight to my cock, but I ignored my own desperate need. This was about her—about showing her exactlyhow much I wanted her, how much she meant to me. I kissed higher, closer, my breath ghosting over her center, and she trembled violently.
"Please," she gasped, and that single word nearly undid me.
The first touch of my tongue against her slick, swollen folds made her gasp, her hips bucking involuntarily. I steadied her with firm hands on her thighs, spreading her wider, keeping my movements slow and exploratory as I dragged my tongue through her wetnesss, learning every secret her body was desperate to share. Her taste was fucking exquisite—sweet and musky with a heady tang that made my head spin and my cock throb so hard I thought I might come in my trousers like an untried youth. I was a Duke's son. I'd tasted the finest wines from a hundred different worlds, sampled the richest foods the universe had to offer, delicacies prepared by master chefs who'd spent lifetimes perfecting their craft.
But none of it—nothing—compared to this. To her. To the intoxicating flavor of her arousal coating my tongue, the way her cunt was already dripping for me. Nothing had ever tasted this perfect, this right, this utterly and completely mine.
I became a devoted student of her pleasure, cataloging every breathy whimper, every involuntary shudder, every delicious tremor that rippled through her body as I feasted on her. When I discovered a spot that made her moan—low and needy and utterly wrecked—I lavished attention there, memorizing exactly what made her fingers tangle desperately in my hair, what made her thighs quiver and clench around my head, what coaxed those sweet gasps from her throat that made my cock throb and drove me absolutely wild.
"Nansar," she whimpered, my name a broken prayer on her lips, and the sound sent a surge of possessive heat blazing through my veins like molten fire.
My cock was rock-hard and aching, straining painfully against my trousers, the fabric soaked with my own arousal, demanding relief. But I ruthlessly pushed the sensation aside, pouring every ounce of my focus into her. This moment wasn't about my need—it was about hers. About worshipping her the way she deserved, showing her that her pleasure was sacred to me, that I would gladly spend hours between her thighs making her come again and again.
I explored her dripping sex with reverent hunger, lapping up the slick arousal coating her soft, pink folds, tasting her deeply, savoring the way she got wetter with every stroke of my tongue, and she cried out—a sound of pure, unfiltered pleasure. Her flavor intensified as her arousal built, growing headier, more intoxicating, growing impossibly wetter. When I moved higher, focusing on her swollen clit, she squirmed beneath me, her hips rolling in an instinctive rhythm as desperate, needy moans spilled from her lips like the most erotic music I'd ever heard.
I circled the sensitive bundle of nerves with my tongue, then flicked across it with deliberate precision, learning the exact rhythm that made her gasp and writhe and gush more wetness against my chin. Her fingers tightened almost painfully in my hair, holding me there as if terrified I might stop, might leave her teetering on this precipice. But I had no intention of stopping—not until she came completely undone, not until she was screaming my name and flooding my mouth with her release.
I felt her climbing higher, her body drawing taut as a bowstring, her breathing dissolving into short, desperate pants and broken moans. The tension coiled through her muscles like lightning about to strike, making her thighs quiver violently against my shoulders, her entire body trembling with the force of her approaching orgasm, her pussy clenching around nothing.
And then she shattered beautifully.
Chloe cried out, her back arching off the platform in a graceful bow as pleasure crashed through her in devastating waves. The sound echoed through the room, raw and unrestrained and absolutely exquisite—the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard. I gentled my touch as she came down from the peak, pressing soft, reverent kisses to her inner thighs while she trembled and gasped, helping her ride out every last ripple of pleasure until she melted boneless beneath me.
