Page 107 of Bad Bishop

Her pussy was a work of art, and I’d visited most museums in the Western world.

An achingly tiny triangle, protected by golden curls a shade darker than her hair.

No one taught her to wax, trim, shave, seduce. And yet she was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

I kissed each of her toes, maintaining eye contact. She purred and stretched across the mattress like a lazy cat. I kissed the inside of her ankle, moving south, to the back of her knee, kissing and lapping at her inner thigh, slowly, slowly, giving her the chance to stop me, to change her mind.

She didn’t.

My mouth watered the closer I got to her pussy. My cock twitched uncontrollably.

I stopped at her center, giving her a slow, earnest lick from arse crack to clit.

She moaned so hard I thought she was going to wake people in Nebraska.

Stroking her inner thighs, I started licking, using my free hand to feel for her elusive little clit. I wasn’t completely hopeless. I knew its general whereabouts. When I found it, I started massaging it.

My wife tasted incredible. Of clean skin and sugar water and an addiction I never thought I’d pick. My tongue dug deeper, penetrating her, my thumbs spreading her wider. She arched tautly, like a drawn bow.

“Tiernan,” she choked out my name, speaking it in her sweet, soft voice. “What are you doing?”

“Playing with my food,” I murmured into her core, knowing she couldn’t read my lips.

She reached for my hair. Gave it a good, earnest tug. I froze, lifting my head up to watch her.

“Shit. Was that too much?” I felt myself honest-to-god bleeding blushing. The fuck was wrong with me?

Lila snapped her head up from the pillow, face pink, eyes unfocused. She wrenched her fingers from my hair, yanking out a good portion of it.

“Why did you stop?” It was amusing, how I could hear her tone based on her sharp movements.

“You pulled my hair. That was our safe word.”

Her eyebrows slammed together. “I was close.”

“You were?”

“Yes. And I wanted to see what it feels like. Go back to it.” She pushed my head between her legs hurriedly, and I laughed.

I went back to work, picking up the pace. Every time I thrust my tongue into her, her muscles squeezed, trying to trap itinside. And every time my finger pad flicked just below the clit, she writhed and whimpered.

She was close again.

So was I.

Without realizing it, I was rubbing my cock against the mattress, seeking friction. Lila yanked at my hair again. This time I glanced upward before stopping. She thrashed and moaned with abandon. I continued.

Her hips jerked, trying to escape my tongue, my lips, my fingers, and I clamped a hand around her waist, pinning her to the bed.

She came hard against my tongue with a rush of liquid heat. I knew, because I could barely pry it out of her cunt. A cunt that was now dripping.

My desire for her was violent.

I slurped it, rubbing myself faster against the bed. She whined in pleasure, stretching her leg.

My orgasm hit different this time. It built, like a castle, brick upon brick, curling skyward, looming over everything else, until there was nothing but pleasure, and her scent, and her flesh.

I came inside my hand so hard my vision blurred. Every muscle in my body was rigid. Every inch of it slicked with sweat. I buried my face in the crook of her knee, breathing her in.