Page 35 of Pawn

Her lips part, but no words come out. I take that as permission.

My hands find her waist, guiding her backward until her legs hit the edge of the small kitchen table. She gasps as I lift her, setting her down on the surface, her dress riding up to expose the smooth expanse of her thighs. I can’t resist. My palm slides over her skin, warm and soft, and she jumps at the contact, her body tensing. But she doesn’t pull away.

“You’re still dressed,” she says, but there’s no conviction. Just observation.

“So are you.”

I kneel between her legs, my hands sliding up her thighs, pushing the fabric of her dress higher. She watches me, her breath coming faster now, her chest rising and falling with each inhale. The air between us is thick, charged with the kind of electricity that makes your skin prickle.

Her panties are sheer. Black. Almost see-through. And beneath them, I can see the glisten of her arousal, the way her body has already prepared itself for me. My cock twitches in my pants, straining against the fabric.

“Fuck,” I mutter, more to myself than to her. But she hears it. Her thighs tremble.

I lean in, pressing my lips to the inside of her knee. She tastes like salt and warmth, like skin that’s been touched by the sun. Her fingers tangle in my hair, not pulling me closer, not pushing me away—just there, anchoring herself to the moment.

I kiss my way up, higher, my tongue tracing a path along her inner thigh. She squirms, a soft moan escaping her lips. I can feel the heat radiating off her, the way her body is begging for more even as her mind fights it.

“You’re so fucking wet already,” I murmur against her skin, my breath hot. She shudders.

My fingers hook into the waistband of her panties, but I don’t pull them down. Not yet. Instead, I tease, my thumb pressing against the damp fabric, circling, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp.

“Guido—” My name on her lips is half a plea, half a warning.

I look up at her, my chin resting against her thigh. “Tell me what you want.”

She glares down at me, but her eyes are dark with desire, her lips parted. “You know what I want.”

I smirk. “Say it.”

A growl rumbles in her chest, but she doesn’t break. Doesn’t back down. “I want your mouth on me. I want your fingers inside me. I want you to fuck me!”

The words hang between us, raw and unfiltered. My cock throbs, aching to be free, to be inside her. But first—

I yank her panties to the side, exposing her fully to me. She’s dripping, her pussy swollen and pink, practically begging for my touch. I don’t make her wait. My tongue drags through her folds, slow and deliberate, savoring the taste of her—sweet, musky, her essence.

She cries out, her back arching, her fingers tightening in my hair. I groan against her, the vibration making her tremble. My tongue finds her clit, circling, teasing, never giving her quite enough. She bucks against my mouth, desperate, her thighs squeezing around my head.

“Fuck.” She’s panting now, her hips moving in small, frantic circles, chasing the pleasure only I can give her.

I pull back just enough to speak, my breath hot against her skin. “You want to come?”

“Yes—please—”

“Not yet.”

She whimpers, but I don’t give in. Not yet. Instead, I slide two fingers inside her, curling them just right, finding that spot that makes her see stars. She’s tight, so fucking tight, her walls clenching around me as I work her slowly, my thumb pressing against her clit in time with my strokes.

“You’re dripping,” I murmur, my voice rough. “So fucking ready for me.”

She doesn’t answer. Can’t. Her head is thrown back, her body trembling on the edge. I can feel it—the way her muscles tense, the way her breath catches. She’s close. So close.

But I’m not done with her yet.

I stand abruptly, my fingers glistening with her arousal. She whines at the loss, her eyes glazed with need. I don’t let her stew for long. My hands go to her dress, pulling it up and over her head, leaving her in nothing but her bra. The lace is black, delicate, and it does nothing to hide the way her nipples have hardened into tight peaks.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, my hands cupping her breasts, my thumbs brushing over the stiff fabric. She gasps, her back arching into my touch. I pinch her nipples through the lace, just hard enough to make her hiss, her body jerking in response.

“Guido—” Her voice is rough, needy.