Page 97 of Venom Sweeter than Honey
You’ve done nothing to earn my touch...
... A male who just takes whatever I will give without giving in return...
Determination swells in my chest. Rising to my knees, I guide her beneath me before dragging her to the edge of the bed.
“Your pleasure is my pleasure.”
Kneeling on the floor, I glide my palms across her inner thighs as I allow myself to admire the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.
Slightly puffy lips, delicate pink folds framing a tight entrance glistening with promise just for me.
The realization that this might be both the first andlasttime I ever get to indulge in her feels like a spear to the chest.
Sweeping my thumb through Violette’s arousal, I massage it over the hood of her clit. Violette’s hips twitch in response as she gives me a small whimper.
My chest aches with words that are murmured in awe.
“So fucking beautiful.”
Her delicate throat dips, and I can see a hint of her vulnerability lingering.
Gaze holding hers, I bow to lower my salivating mouth to her lower lips. Use the flat of my tongue to lick her from entrance to pearl.
The taste of her tears a growl from my chest as my hands grip firm palmfuls of each thick ass cheek to hold her more firmly against me. With long, fervent sweeps of my tongue, I lave every bit of honey she has to offer me before I focus my efforts on suckling and teasing her clit.
“Goddamn it, Vi. Ineedthis pussy.”
I’m too lost in her to suppress my deep, growling moans of satisfaction, further heightened as Violette’s body gradually tightens and one of her hands lands on my head. Her claws scrape against my scalp as if seeking to fist my hair, but my locks are shorn too short, so she settles for palming the top of my head, nails digging in.
I’ve never had long hair. It’s always been short, cut nearly to my scalp, but for her—if it makes her hold on to me, I’ll grow a fucking mane.
Violette’s curses are uttered in between each breathy whine and moan. When her hips hitch, back arching, I slip two thick fingers inside her weeping channel to firmly stroke against that spot I know will have her squirting in my mouth and down my chest.
Less than a minute passes under the ministry of my fingers before my ears are blessed by the telltale sloppy wet noises of her body preparing for a gushing release. I need to coordinate it with her climax from clitoral stimulation. Doubling the efforts of my tongue, I steadily flick across her bud as I suck.
Violette cries out, desperate for something to grip, and fists the sheets. Her hips thrust in tandem to the pumping of my fingers as her core begins to spasm—gifting me the pulsating squirts of her release that I greedily lap up.
“Fuck, yes, sweetheart. Give me every drop.”
When her gushing subsides, I ease her down from her climax with slow, gentle, circling passes of my tongue over her clit, before I proceed to lap up her release—whatever isn’t drenching my neck and chest.
Violette sits up on her elbows, a look of stunned wonder on her face as she stares down at me, watching as I continue devoting myself to kissing and licking every delicious inch of her.
Her voice comes out breathless with shock.
“What the fuck was that?”
The fact that she achieved orgasm in under two minutes tells me she hasn’t had her needs taken care of properly for too long. Perhaps ever. And very selfishly, I love the idea that I might be the only one who has.
The word is spoken on a smug, rough chuckle.
“Breakfast?”
Mumbling something in another language, she flops back down on the bed and allows me to continue my work.
I waste no time, returning to my feast, and she does nothing to stop me. Instead, her hips encourage me by rocking gently against my mouth, where I continue to devour her like she’s my sole source of sustenance.
That throbbing cord tightening between us flares to life, as if to affirm that Violette is exactly that in more ways than one.
