enjoyment as he touches and caresses part after part.
“You seduce me, Il mio piccolo dolce , with your beauty. A man can only resist so much,” his sweet sounding tongue leaves me craving more, “You’ll be the ruin of me.”
I feel the air rush in as somehow his hands have expertly snaked beneath my back and released the zipper of the expensive dress. Yes… yes, please. I know if we stop now, it’ll kill me. Please, I beg silently, don’t let him stop.
The difference in our movements is obvious to me. The clumsiness of mine is no match for the controlled, expertise of his own. It’s painfully clear to me the difference between our experiences, but I hope I manage to hide it from him.
My dress is pulled low enough for me to wiggle my way out of it and he now pours all of his attention to my newly revealed bra cups. I arch back in torture as his lips explore what’s hidden underneath them. I call out from the intensity of it, and his hand reaches to quickly cover my mouth before it exposes us.
I can no longer think, well at least rationally, and I don’t care at this moment if the Cardinal himself walks in on us. I scream out again, muffled under the weight of his palm.
His fingers are magical, removing the nonsensical bra from my body as if it were no more than a tissue, discarding it far behind us in the empty room. I hear the sounds his mouth makes as he feasts on the curves of my breasts and they ignite a deep need.
His tongue kisses flames, crisscrossing over themselves and singeing me, burning me, but I don’t pull away.
“Perfect,” he calls into the hollow of my chest. The harshness of his velvety tongue sweeps across my nipple, stinging it, before grabbing hold and moving his lips around it. I scream once more, his hand covering my mouth is now lax and some sound escapes. It spurs him on, as his teeth now join in the marauding of my breast, and I pray that I’ll survive this.
His hips now move on their own accord, pressing deep and strong into mine. I move my leg to make room for him, and he catches notice, grabbing my thigh and pushing it further, settling into a place where his jeans touch the outer side of my panties.
I breathe in harshly from the sensation. The rough yet softness of his tongue on me contradicts the coarseness of the denim as the lace offers little barrier and I can feel the texture through them.
I feel something else. Something firm and warm pressing through the material and I barely have time to register that it’s his need, before nature takes control and I seep my own need between us, soaking the space where our bodies are instinctively trying to join.
His lips find mine again, I can feel his pulse throbbing both from his mouth and matching from between his legs. It’s strong, it’s carnal. His fingers tickle my sides as they sweep themselves over my burning skin to the edge of lace sweeping from hip to hip.
I feel his skin play with the delicate design, tracing the intricate floral pattern as if he were reading my secrets in braille. I know they would tell of my desire for him, how his eyes draw me in and blind me to anything else. How his words mesmerize me with his perfectly accented confessions of love.
“Bella tentarice,” Beautiful temptress, he calls me as he plays with the panties that I’ve worn just for him. I know I’ve made the right wardrobe choice, but have had enough of the panties. I need them off.
My hands leave the muscular angles of his back to settle on top of his fingers, urging them to clear away the undergarment. I feel him hesitate. “I need you, Carmine, please,” I persuade him.
His momentary flash of better judgment disappears as I’ve begged of him. The soaking panties are inched down, teasingly slow, exposing my most private of areas to him. His kisses travel down, exploring the growing texture of my skin as the goose bumps break out under his touch.
The rugged callouses of his hands serve to remind me over and over of
“You seduce me, Il mio piccolo dolce , with your beauty. A man can only resist so much,” his sweet sounding tongue leaves me craving more, “You’ll be the ruin of me.”
I feel the air rush in as somehow his hands have expertly snaked beneath my back and released the zipper of the expensive dress. Yes… yes, please. I know if we stop now, it’ll kill me. Please, I beg silently, don’t let him stop.
The difference in our movements is obvious to me. The clumsiness of mine is no match for the controlled, expertise of his own. It’s painfully clear to me the difference between our experiences, but I hope I manage to hide it from him.
My dress is pulled low enough for me to wiggle my way out of it and he now pours all of his attention to my newly revealed bra cups. I arch back in torture as his lips explore what’s hidden underneath them. I call out from the intensity of it, and his hand reaches to quickly cover my mouth before it exposes us.
I can no longer think, well at least rationally, and I don’t care at this moment if the Cardinal himself walks in on us. I scream out again, muffled under the weight of his palm.
His fingers are magical, removing the nonsensical bra from my body as if it were no more than a tissue, discarding it far behind us in the empty room. I hear the sounds his mouth makes as he feasts on the curves of my breasts and they ignite a deep need.
His tongue kisses flames, crisscrossing over themselves and singeing me, burning me, but I don’t pull away.
“Perfect,” he calls into the hollow of my chest. The harshness of his velvety tongue sweeps across my nipple, stinging it, before grabbing hold and moving his lips around it. I scream once more, his hand covering my mouth is now lax and some sound escapes. It spurs him on, as his teeth now join in the marauding of my breast, and I pray that I’ll survive this.
His hips now move on their own accord, pressing deep and strong into mine. I move my leg to make room for him, and he catches notice, grabbing my thigh and pushing it further, settling into a place where his jeans touch the outer side of my panties.
I breathe in harshly from the sensation. The rough yet softness of his tongue on me contradicts the coarseness of the denim as the lace offers little barrier and I can feel the texture through them.
I feel something else. Something firm and warm pressing through the material and I barely have time to register that it’s his need, before nature takes control and I seep my own need between us, soaking the space where our bodies are instinctively trying to join.
His lips find mine again, I can feel his pulse throbbing both from his mouth and matching from between his legs. It’s strong, it’s carnal. His fingers tickle my sides as they sweep themselves over my burning skin to the edge of lace sweeping from hip to hip.
I feel his skin play with the delicate design, tracing the intricate floral pattern as if he were reading my secrets in braille. I know they would tell of my desire for him, how his eyes draw me in and blind me to anything else. How his words mesmerize me with his perfectly accented confessions of love.
“Bella tentarice,” Beautiful temptress, he calls me as he plays with the panties that I’ve worn just for him. I know I’ve made the right wardrobe choice, but have had enough of the panties. I need them off.
My hands leave the muscular angles of his back to settle on top of his fingers, urging them to clear away the undergarment. I feel him hesitate. “I need you, Carmine, please,” I persuade him.
His momentary flash of better judgment disappears as I’ve begged of him. The soaking panties are inched down, teasingly slow, exposing my most private of areas to him. His kisses travel down, exploring the growing texture of my skin as the goose bumps break out under his touch.
The rugged callouses of his hands serve to remind me over and over of
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