“Lift up your skirts.” The fabric rustled as she lifted the shimmering salmon pink gown. The soft gas lamps making her glow.
“Up higher.” He tugged at his cravat and removed it, throwing it on the chair with his jacket. “Let’s get these off you.”
His hands worked rapidly to unfasten the panniers until he had them off and placed them away on the floor. “Don’t lower your dress little bird.” He murmured as he gently guided her to back up to the small sofa. “Sit.” Need pulsed through his body, but this was all about her finding her pleasure.
“Put your feet on the bench, like you saw in Hell’s Hall. The wolf wants to see what’s for dinner.” Her face blushed, her pulse thundering at the base of her neck. He wanted her brave. He wanted her to reach for the deeply sensual woman she was and set her free.
Slowly she settled her skirts around her on the sofa leaving them high on her waist. Their gazes met and she deliberately lifted her feet placing first one and then the other on the sofa. The soft pale hair on her sex, her perfectly shaped nether lips and crease made his throat suddenly dry. She was so incredibly beautiful.
“Place your feet wider.” His accent sounded thicker.
She did as he asked. The small crease between her legs widening. “Now press your knees out wide.” She swallowed, color high on her cheeks, her eyes never leaving his face as she pressed her knees out at either side, down toward the seat. The ruby red of her sex opened to view, and he groaned with need. His body smoldered with lust and desire that he banked for later. No hurry, he reminded himself, as difficult as it was to not ravish his little bird.
“Look in the mirror.” His voice was rough as he watched her.
Her eyes shifted to look at the reflection of herself. She gasped. A sharp intake of breath as the image she made hit her. She was the definition of erotic. Her sex splayed for view, skirts around her like a luminous cloud. And the rest of her body rising out of the salmon pink luster, a tower of lascivious flesh, corseted, breasts pillowed, a long slender neck and a beautiful face with a pastel pink wig decked with birds towering above her. Any man with heat in his blood would want to fuck her senseless. As Ilya did. He wanted to press himself into her, make her call his name, clutch his shoulders and croon. But that might be for another time. Right now, he was going to introduce her to one of the best things the French had given to the rest of the world, cunnilingus.
He unfastened his britches, the fabric too tight against his cock. But he wasn’t just any man, he had decades of experience under his belt. Enough to know that this was about her. That the road he paved now would yield years of delicious fruit if she liked what he did. If she learned to feel comfortable with the mysteries and pleasures her body held.
Ilya drew off his mask casting it aside as he sank to his knees. He murmured things to her in Russian. My Beautiful bird, how you do me honor.
He slid his hands over her calves, her thighs, her mons. Your hair is like the softest down.
“You are perfection.” He leaned down and kissed along her leg. Nuzzled the soft sensitivity behind her knee. He kissed it and her breath changed, her legs dropped fractionally wider as he made his way up her thighs to her apex. Your skin like an ethereal glow.
Ilya brought his face to her sex. The beat of his heart thundered in his ears as he drew in a deep breath of clean, soft woman. He licked the rosy flesh and she gasped above him. Then he blew on her and was rewarded with the soft shaking of her thighs. He did it again. He wanted everything for her in this moment. Wanted her to saver the sensations, the pleasure, the carnal pulse of need the setting gave her.
“Look in the mirror little bird. Look at us as I pleasure you.”
Her breath came fast, skin flushed. Ilya lost himself in her. Pressed into her soft quim, tasted, licked, nibbled. Breathed in the scent of her so warm and musky, cherished the feel of her on his tongue, his lips, his face.
Her breath came hard and fast above him.
He wanted her to give everything over to him, to relax into a pliable mass of languid heat.
The bunched fabric pressed around him. Her breath came fast.
His determination to make this about her tightened his muscles. Tightened his back, his legs, and gut as he held back his own need.
“Hold my head against you. Wrap your fingers in my hair." He wanted her in a bed, wanted her legs wrapped around his head and squeezing his ears so tight he couldn’t hear anything except the sound of his blood pounding through his body. He would show her passion. Show her how it was between them.
Ilya breathed her in as he pushed his face against her, against the soft folds of her sex. Pressed her lips against the flat of his tongue. The satin slide as he ran his tongue along her crease and pushed it up into the heat of her. He licked over the flesh. Licked between the folds, over her nub that held all that sensitivity, the tickles of golden, soft hair.
The taste of her, the feel of her flesh, his whole focus narrowed to the world of her sex, the ripples through her body. Her hands held his head firm as her muscles clenched and unclenched and she pressed her sex closer to his face.
“I have wings Ilya,” she whimpered. “My body is climbing, higher...higher…”
“Yes, little bird, I have you.” He said between nips on her thighs and as his fingers pressed into her.
Ilya nuzzled back into her soft, damp heat. Slipped his tongue over the delicate folds of flesh, between the soft damp creases of her sex, all the while moving his fingers in her, finding that secret spot. She bucked against his face, her fingers tightening in his hair and twisting as he worked between her legs with licks, bites, sucks, and rubs.
“I’m going to fall, Ilya, fall or burst into the heavens.” She was panting now, the muscles in her thighs tight.
Ilya looked up. She was watching the two of them in the mirror, eyes glazed. She shifted her gaze to him. Had there ever been a time he wanted a woman as he wanted her? No. He didn’t think so. Never like this. The physical, yes, the hunt always made him hungry. But the other, the emotions that went soul deep? No. Never. And never had he imagined what it added to the act of amour.
“Gobble me up wolf. I want the death you promised me.” Her voice was sensual, filled with desire, making his cock weep with need. He’d thought the night would just be for her, but now…he was not sure he would be able to oblige.
Ilya held her gaze as he slipped another large finger into her. Her lids dropped lower over her eyes and then he started to move them, looked at her beautiful sex as it sucked around them as he promised her what his cock would feel like. He lowered his face and licked, sucked and flicked his tongue against her nub.
She tightened against him.
The warm dampness of her on his fingers as he moved them in her. Damp over his lips, nose, and cheeks. His need matched her own. There would be no way he could not take her once she’d come. He growled into her flesh, as raw need pulsed through him.
Her movements became more uncontrolled. She bucked into his face, his little bird finding her wings as she muttered and cried out words of senseless glorious poetry. His fingers pumped, his tongue flicked, and she convulsed against his fingers, against his tongue, her juices flowing over his hand as she called out his name in her completion.
In moments he was standing, he pulled a sheath out of his waistcoat pocket and drew down his britches. Her eyes half open, fixed on his cock as he rolled on the sheath. She reached for him, his beautiful bird, hunger on her face for more. He lifted her, limp limbed, her arms wrapping around his neck and took the two steps to a low dresser and sat her on it. Drew her knees up and pushed them out wide as he pressed himself against her heat and pushed in. A soft heavenly slide into her glorious heat nearly undid him. Her sex clutched at him, swollen and soft, taking all of him as he pressed home.