Grave Phantoms
Page 72
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“What happened on the roof?” Astrid asked in a breathy voice as her fingers tentatively dipped lower. She slipped a finger inside herself and he nearly lost his mind.
“He was covered in soot, so she didn’t recognize him at first, but he knew a way to prove his identity to her.” He stopped in front of her and unbuttoned his fly. His cock sprang free. “And she instantly knew it was him.”
“Oh,” Astrid said, shyness and daring warring on her face. The daring won out. She leaned forward and ran her tongue up the ridge of his cock, root to tip, forcing a contented sigh out of him before she drew back again. “Quite right,” Astrid murmured. “I’d recognize that anywhere.”
He cupped the crown of her head and urged her forward. “Again,” he murmured. “And this time, take it inside your mouth. And keep your hand between your legs.”
Gripping the open fly of his pants as an anchor, she set to the task without hesitation. He watched her gazing up at him, her indrawn cheeks, and then closed his eyes as his head lolled back in bliss. He could only stand it for a moment, and then it was too much. “Any more and this will be over in thirty seconds,” he said. “Lean back against the window.”
Her eyelids were heavy with lust. “What happened to the scholar and the fox?”
“It wasn’t easy for them, because not only did they have to worry about his father catching them, the entire town was superstitious and would watch the rooftops, ready to shoot any fox spirits with arrows. So every night she came to him, she risked her life.”
He dropped to his knees, cock glistening as it bobbed in front of him. Then he wrapped his hands around the underside of her thighs and scooted her closer. “Open for me,” he said. Beneath the nest of blond curls, he could see the flesh of her sex, plump and slick, unfurling like the petals of an exotic orchid. He trailed kisses on the insides of her thighs, one on each side, back and forth, until he got to the tender crease where her leg met her torso and licked there.
“Have you missed me?” he said, looking up at her.
“Every minute,” she whispered.
“I missed you, too. Let me show you how much.” He breathed in her scent, inhaling deeply, and swept his flattened tongue against her hooded clitoris. He went slow at first, but her clean, salty taste and soft moans made him harder. He licked and suckled. Kissed and kneaded. Flicked and rubbed. And as her stomach tightened, he dropped a hand to his cock and gave himself a few strokes, just to pacify it.
But when he felt her feet digging into his shoulders and her hips began pushing upward—and when her soft moans increased in volume—he settled his forearm over her stomach to give her something to buck against. “No . . . screaming,” he instructed her between licks, and then paused. “Or I’ll stop right now.”
She roughly pushed his head back into position, and he laughed a little and took up a steady rhythm as she fisted the edge of the window seat cushion in both hands. It gave him joy to watch her as he worked: eyes squeezed shut, open mouth, contorted face, a deep flush of red spreading over her upper chest and neck as she strained. And when she switched her straining grip from the seat cushion to his bracing arm, he watched her face turn to the side as a silent scream floated from her open mouth.
“Good girl,” he said when the tremors slowed and her legs tried to close around his head. He gave her one last lick, a lingering kiss, and then released her.
He wanted to feel her skin. As her breath steadied, his palms drifted over the smooth silk of her stockings, up her calves and thighs. He continued exploring, molding her curving hips and the flat expanse of her stomach. He skimmed over the tips of her breasts and savored the way his touch made her jump. The way, when he caressed her breasts, she came back to life. The way her legs parted once more, inviting him closer. And it was then that he realized, with no small amount of excitement, that the window seat was the perfect height. He could take her like this, kneeling between her thighs, framed by the lights of the city winking over a dark sea of rooftops.
“Are you ready for me, now, huli jing?” he whispered as her damp curls tickled the head of his cock.
“Yes,” she whispered back. “I want you.”
He didn’t bother to take off his pants—they didn’t have the luxury of time—so he only pushed them down below his knees so he could find better leverage on the woven silk rug that covered the floor.
“You know,” he said, momentarily sucking her nipple into his mouth because he couldn’t resist, “I think I’ve heard if two people come together beneath mistletoe, you’ll both have good luck for ten years.”
She choked out a laugh, and then her eyes became serious and glossy. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
“No,” he admitted, pushing back a wave of emotion so strong, it made goose bumps spread over his arms. “But tell me afterward if you haven’t changed your mind.”
He drove himself into her as far as he could, allowed a moment for the overwhelming pleasure of it to pass (hot, wet, tight, mine-mine-mine), and then gripped her hips and picked up speed.
If the newness of her body was a pleasure during their night at the lighthouse, then the familiarity of it was its own grand reward now. He knew how to angle himself to hit the spot inside her that she liked, right at twelve o’clock. He knew how hard to push her, and when it was too rough. He knew if he kissed her now, with the taste of her sex still on his lips, the taboo of it would excite her and she’d squeeze around him a little tighter.
“He was covered in soot, so she didn’t recognize him at first, but he knew a way to prove his identity to her.” He stopped in front of her and unbuttoned his fly. His cock sprang free. “And she instantly knew it was him.”
“Oh,” Astrid said, shyness and daring warring on her face. The daring won out. She leaned forward and ran her tongue up the ridge of his cock, root to tip, forcing a contented sigh out of him before she drew back again. “Quite right,” Astrid murmured. “I’d recognize that anywhere.”
He cupped the crown of her head and urged her forward. “Again,” he murmured. “And this time, take it inside your mouth. And keep your hand between your legs.”
Gripping the open fly of his pants as an anchor, she set to the task without hesitation. He watched her gazing up at him, her indrawn cheeks, and then closed his eyes as his head lolled back in bliss. He could only stand it for a moment, and then it was too much. “Any more and this will be over in thirty seconds,” he said. “Lean back against the window.”
Her eyelids were heavy with lust. “What happened to the scholar and the fox?”
“It wasn’t easy for them, because not only did they have to worry about his father catching them, the entire town was superstitious and would watch the rooftops, ready to shoot any fox spirits with arrows. So every night she came to him, she risked her life.”
He dropped to his knees, cock glistening as it bobbed in front of him. Then he wrapped his hands around the underside of her thighs and scooted her closer. “Open for me,” he said. Beneath the nest of blond curls, he could see the flesh of her sex, plump and slick, unfurling like the petals of an exotic orchid. He trailed kisses on the insides of her thighs, one on each side, back and forth, until he got to the tender crease where her leg met her torso and licked there.
“Have you missed me?” he said, looking up at her.
“Every minute,” she whispered.
“I missed you, too. Let me show you how much.” He breathed in her scent, inhaling deeply, and swept his flattened tongue against her hooded clitoris. He went slow at first, but her clean, salty taste and soft moans made him harder. He licked and suckled. Kissed and kneaded. Flicked and rubbed. And as her stomach tightened, he dropped a hand to his cock and gave himself a few strokes, just to pacify it.
But when he felt her feet digging into his shoulders and her hips began pushing upward—and when her soft moans increased in volume—he settled his forearm over her stomach to give her something to buck against. “No . . . screaming,” he instructed her between licks, and then paused. “Or I’ll stop right now.”
She roughly pushed his head back into position, and he laughed a little and took up a steady rhythm as she fisted the edge of the window seat cushion in both hands. It gave him joy to watch her as he worked: eyes squeezed shut, open mouth, contorted face, a deep flush of red spreading over her upper chest and neck as she strained. And when she switched her straining grip from the seat cushion to his bracing arm, he watched her face turn to the side as a silent scream floated from her open mouth.
“Good girl,” he said when the tremors slowed and her legs tried to close around his head. He gave her one last lick, a lingering kiss, and then released her.
He wanted to feel her skin. As her breath steadied, his palms drifted over the smooth silk of her stockings, up her calves and thighs. He continued exploring, molding her curving hips and the flat expanse of her stomach. He skimmed over the tips of her breasts and savored the way his touch made her jump. The way, when he caressed her breasts, she came back to life. The way her legs parted once more, inviting him closer. And it was then that he realized, with no small amount of excitement, that the window seat was the perfect height. He could take her like this, kneeling between her thighs, framed by the lights of the city winking over a dark sea of rooftops.
“Are you ready for me, now, huli jing?” he whispered as her damp curls tickled the head of his cock.
“Yes,” she whispered back. “I want you.”
He didn’t bother to take off his pants—they didn’t have the luxury of time—so he only pushed them down below his knees so he could find better leverage on the woven silk rug that covered the floor.
“You know,” he said, momentarily sucking her nipple into his mouth because he couldn’t resist, “I think I’ve heard if two people come together beneath mistletoe, you’ll both have good luck for ten years.”
She choked out a laugh, and then her eyes became serious and glossy. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
“No,” he admitted, pushing back a wave of emotion so strong, it made goose bumps spread over his arms. “But tell me afterward if you haven’t changed your mind.”
He drove himself into her as far as he could, allowed a moment for the overwhelming pleasure of it to pass (hot, wet, tight, mine-mine-mine), and then gripped her hips and picked up speed.
If the newness of her body was a pleasure during their night at the lighthouse, then the familiarity of it was its own grand reward now. He knew how to angle himself to hit the spot inside her that she liked, right at twelve o’clock. He knew how hard to push her, and when it was too rough. He knew if he kissed her now, with the taste of her sex still on his lips, the taboo of it would excite her and she’d squeeze around him a little tighter.
