Almost.
As he stroked her, spreading the folds, he felt Paulina’s fingernails digging lightly into his shoulders as she clung to him, breathing hard.
“It’s all right, baby,” he said. “I got you.”
She nodded against his chest. It was happening again, that sense of complete and utter calm he’d felt earlier. He had one job and that job was to take care of Paulina. That he could do and would do for the rest of his life.
Cyrus stroked her a little harder, pushing in a little more until he felt the wet silk under his fingertips. He looked down at her, and at his own hand touching her. He’d never seen anything that turned him on so much as her beautiful thighs wide for him and his fingertips on her. He wanted to push in and push in deep, but he also wanted to save that for later. And he didn’t want to push Paulina too far. They were just getting started, after all. They had their whole lives to make love every which way they wanted to.
He turned his head and saw Paulina was watching the show, too, watching his hand touching her. Her eyes were wide, full of wonder. He knew how she felt. This woman, her love for him…what a wonder.
Cyrus kissed her once more on the forehead and she turned her mouth to his mouth for another kiss. He gave it to her. And when the kiss broke, he moved down the bed.
He started on her lower stomach, wanting to ease her into it. Not that it was any chore to kiss her stomach, that smooth dark skin and the muscles quivering underneath. Here she smelled like mint, clean and delicious, and he wondered if it was her soap or her lotion or just the natural scent of her skin. Whatever it was, he couldn’t stop breathing her in and in, deep into his lungs.
Slowly, he kissed a path to her left hip and lingered there a while, kissing the curve of the hipbone where it met the top of her thigh. All the while, Paulina kept her hands on his shoulders, not to stop him or push him away, but just to touch him, he could tell. Just to keep the contact between them.
He dipped his head and kissed her inner thigh. New sensations here…even silkier, even warmer, with scents more delicious than Christmas. She was turned on and wet and he could smell it, almost taste it. And almost wasn’t enough.
Cyrus turned his head and licked her. A little quick flick of the tongue, but it was enough to get a gasp out of Paulina.
She laughed at her own gasp. “Sorry,” she said, breathless.
“Don’t be sorry for anything,” he said. “Not a thing, ever.”
He really didn’t know what he was talking about because he was out of his mind, more or less. Impossible to think straight lying between the two most beautiful thighs in all God’s creation. He took those thighs in his hands and pushed them wide enough he could get down to work. Up on his elbows, he stroked the soft folds of her vagina again, opening her up like he’d dreamed about doing every day since the day she first let him kiss her.
Cyrus’s self-control was starting to crack. He didn’t want to go all in while Paulina was shaking like a leaf, but there was a good chance she was shaking from need, not fear. She had plenty of practice telling him to stop or slow down, but now she was saying nothing, only breathing short hard breaths. He told himself the second she said “back off,” he would back off…but since she wasn’t saying anything, he went in.
Gently as he could, he pushed back the tender flesh around her clitoris. There it was, like he’d dreamed of it, swollen and red. He pressed his tongue to it lightly, but it might as well have been lightning that struck it, judging how Paulina flinched.
“Sorry,” she said again and clutched at the sheet by her hip.
Cyrus only laughed and licked her again. She flinched, but not so hard this time. And when he licked her a third time, she didn’t flinch at all. She tasted perfect, tasted like a woman should, and her clitoris felt as right as anything ever did against his tongue. He went at it with the tip, carefully as he could, and it wasn’t long before it started to have the desired effect on Paulina.
As much as he wanted to watch her enjoying it, Cyrus forced himself to concentrate. Her pleasure mattered more than his. He’d have plenty of chances on their honeymoon to watch her come over and over again. Now he just needed to get her there and get her there hard.
He swirled his tongue all around her sensitive flesh and was rewarded with all sorts of dirty wicked sounds that came out of Paulina’s lips. Little moans, little groans, tiny little gasps and grunts as he licked and sucked her, dropping his head every now and then to stroke the open folds of her with this tongue before focusing on her clitoris again.
All nervousness, his and hers, evaporated in that room. Cyrus knew he was going to get her there, and from the sound of it, get her there fast. If she had as much adrenaline pumping through her body as he had in his right now, she was going to come so hard he’d have to scrape her off the ceiling after. He’d never waited this long to be intimate with a woman before. The closest thing he’d ever felt was his very first time at age fifteen. But even that couldn’t compare to this. There’d been no sweetness then, no affection, just anticipation, the frenzy, the climax, and the emptiness afterward of having won a game but no trophy.
But this was good and it was right. Anything that made Paulina feel loved and wanted and worshipped had to be right.
“Cyrus,” she said. Just that. Just his name. She wasn’t asking for anything. He doubted she even realized she’d said it. He’d never heard anything sweeter than his name on her lips while his lips were on her body.
She was so close. He knew it. He could feel it, feel the tension in her building to the breaking point. Nothing for him to do now but not stop, not break the rhythm. He ran his tongue over and over her clitoris again and again, kneading and teasing it, stroking and lapping it. Paulina was completely lost. She rocked her hips on the bed and dug her heels into the sheets, his back, and then back on the sheets. He dared to glance up once and saw her head back and her long lovely throat exposed. Her breasts rose and fell under the pink nightgown, and her nipples were hard and pushed against the fabric.
He made himself look away before he crawled up on top of her, stripped her naked, and made love to her until dawn of next year.
Paulina’s voice rose, and her little moans and little groans turned into cries, erotic womanly cries of pleasure. He focused his entire attention onto her clitoris, on that throbbing knot between his lips and against his tongue, working until she couldn’t take it anymore. Her back arched and she cried out again, and she came hard on his mouth, hard enough he felt the muscles contract and he could taste the rush of fluid pouring from her. He buried his mouth into her, lapping it all up, drinking her like wine, drinking until he was drunk on her and couldn’t drink another drop.
She went still on the bed, and he crawled up her body. He pulled her limp body to him and held her against him in his arms. Though it seemed to take her extraordinary effort to open her eyes, her lashes fluttered and she looked at him.
“You’re shaking, baby,” he said. “You all right?”
She nodded but didn’t speak. He had a feeling she couldn’t speak. He mentally patted himself on the back for that.
Cyrus pulled her even closer and dragged the sheet and blanket over her. She’d started to shiver. That happened, of course, he remembered. Burning hot one second—orgasm—crash—cold.