Page 2

"You want me to fuck that pretty mouth, don’t you, Princesse?” Bast asks, his voice thick with desire. He bats my hand away, taking control as he unzips his shorts, revealing the bulge that has been pressing against me, a promise of what’s to come.

The anticipation is electric, every nerve ending in my body alive and yearning for him. The heat of his skin, the scent of him, fills my senses, and I’m lost in the moment—lost in him.

"Yes." The word escapes my lips like a secret, eager and raw. I've never wanted something more in my life. The urge to lean in and bury my nose into his groin, to inhale his scent and lose myself in him, is overwhelming.

Bast chuckles, the sound deep and low, resonating through me like a promise. I groan as I stare transfixed as he pulls out his long, thick dick, a bead of precum glistening at the tip, waiting just for me. The sight of it sends a rush of heat through my body, pooling in my core.

I open my mouth, ready to take him in, when the announcement rings out over the festival grounds, ushering the crowd to the mainstage for the upcoming performance. Brea's performance. The sound is a distant echo in my mind, barely registering over the pounding of my desire.

Bast pauses, listening, and for a moment, I think he's going to stop this before we even begin. But he surprises me, his eyes darkening with a mix of amusement and hunger. "If you make it quick, Princesse, I promise to worship you for the rest of the night."

His smirk is dangerous, a silent challenge that has my pulse racing. A whimper escapes my lips, a mixture of excitement and the thrill of the forbidden. The promise of now and later hangs heavy in the air, electrifying every nerve ending in my body.

His smirk is dangerous, a promise of pleasure and a hint of the wild night ahead.

Bast grips the back of my head with one strong, commanding hand and guides me forward.

I open for him without hesitation, lips parted, breath shallow, throat already preparing to be tested.

The first slide of him over my tongue has my eyes rolling back, a moan vibrating in my chest. He's thick, heavy, and tastes faintly of salt and musk, a flavor that's already addictive.

I hollow my cheeks around him, eager to take more, to feel more.

He groans. The deep, raw sound resonates through me like a reward, sending a surge of electricity down my spine and settling between my legs.

His fingers tighten in my hair, not painful but possessive, controlling my movements with a gentle force that makes my entire body surrender.

His pulse beats against my tongue, the throb of his desire that matches my own.

"That's it, Princesse. Just like that," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a register I feel more than hear, a rumble that strokes my internal need to please. "Take me deeper. Show me how badly you want this."

The nickname shouldn't make my stomach flutter the way it does, shouldn't make heat pool low in my abdomen and my thighs clench with need.

But when he says it like that, all reverent and possessive with his pupils blown wide and his jaw clenched in pleasure, I'd let him call me anything.

I'd let him do anything as I take him further, relishing the way his composure fractures when I swirl my tongue just right, when I press my lips tight and give him everything he demands.

He sets a measured pace at first, each movement deliberate and drawn out, as though memorizing every sensation.

My hands find purchase on his muscled thighs, fingers pressing deep into fabric as I find his rhythm.

I can feel the tension in his legs, the coiled power just beneath the surface.

When he cradles my jaw with unexpected gentleness, a deep sound escapes my throat.

A sharp intake of breath followed by whispered French words that slip past me, though their intensity translates perfectly across any language barrier.

I'm lost in the moment and nothing else matters but the feel of him, the taste of him, the promise of more.

"I'm going to cum, and you're going to take all of me, aren't you, my sweet Princesse?

" he commands, his voice a rough, desperate rumble as he moves his hips in a rhythm that's both demanding and vulnerable.

His hands cup my face with a tenderness that contradicts the fierce hunger in his eyes, thumbs brushing away the tears that streak down my cheeks.

I nod, because yes, I want him. All of him. I want his pleasure and his passion, his power and his vulnerability. I want to be the one who gives him this release, who takes everything he has to offer. My eyes never leave his, not even as his breath hitches and his body tenses.

A few more deliberate strokes, each one a claim, a mark of ownership, and then he's there.

He throws his head back, a guttural groan escaping his lips as he finds his release.

The heat of his cum floods my mouth and I swallow it all, every last drop, my gaze locked onto his.

There's a satisfaction in this, a profound contentment that comes from giving him this pleasure, from being the one who brings him to his knees.

His eyes, gray and stormy, watch me with an intensity that makes my heart race, and in this moment, I am truly his, and he is mine.

When he finally steps back, I'm left in a state of complete disarray, my chest heaving with ragged breaths, face flushed a deep crimson, and eyes wide with an insatiable hunger.

There should be a sense of shame or embarrassment lingering at the edges of this moment, but I find none.

Not a single trace. Especially not when he pulls me upward with urgent, insistent hands, my legs barely finding steadiness beneath me before his mouth claims mine in a fierce, all-consuming kiss.

He tastes himself on my lips, a primal satisfaction that seems to ignite something even deeper within him.

His arms encircle me completely, a protective and possessive embrace that leaves no room for doubt or hesitation.

The thought of finding a proper bed, of moving to a more comfortable or conventional setting, seems impossibly distant. We have Brea's entire set to get through. For now, there is only this moment, this raw and intense connection that consumes us both entirely.

I'm perched on the kitchen counter, shirt hanging open where buttons have surrendered their grasp, pants dangling from one of my ankles in a state of disarray that mirrors my own breathless anticipation.

Bast claims me in one powerful motion, a thrust that steals every coherent thought from my mind, replacing them with a whirlwind of sensation.

His slick, lube-covered fingers stretch me open, preparing me with a skill that leaves me gasping.

He starts with one finger, a teasing promise, then two, building a rhythm that has my eyes rolling into the back of my head.

When he adds a third, I'm begging for him, pleading for him to split me open, to fill me completely.

He's deliciously commanding, his lips branding my neck with open-mouthed declarations of desire, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my thigh with a possessive intent that sends shivers down my spine.

The solid plane of his chest is pressed against mine, leaving no space between us, no room for anything but the raw, electric connection that sparks between our bodies.

Pulling back slightly, I watch him, my ass squirming on the edge of the cold countertop as he slides the condom onto his length, his movements deliberate and unhurried.

He rubs lube up and down his shaft, each stroke sending a fresh wave of anticipation coursing through me.

His eyes, those gorgeous gray eyes, never leave mine, the intensity of his gaze pinning me in place, making me his captive in every sense of the word.

"Regardez-vous tous écartés pour moi," he whispers, his voice a low growl that seems to resonate deep within me.

Look at you all spread wide for me. He reaches down, gently lifting my legs with a care that belies the fierce hunger in his eyes.

He cradles them in the crooks of his arms, positioning himself at my entrance, the connection between us electric and unwavering.

When he finally moves forward, the sensation is overwhelming, a perfect pressure that has me gasping his name, my fingers clutching desperately at his shoulders, his arms, anywhere I can reach.

Every nerve ending in my body seems to come alive at once, the sensation of him filling me so completely sends waves of pleasure crashing through me.

His eyes never leave mine, their intensity anchoring me, keeping me tethered to this moment, to this feeling, to him.

The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of us, lost in a dance as old as time, a rhythm that is ours alone.

"You feel incredible," he whispers against my ear, his voice strained with restraint, like a man holding back a force of nature.

He establishes a rhythm that's measured and profound.

Each deliberate movement sends waves of sensation cascading through me, building something transcendent between us, a connection that feels as inevitable as the tides.

His forehead presses against mine, our breaths mingling, sharing the same air as he moves with purpose.

Every calculated shift of his hips hits that sweet spot, drawing sounds from me that I barely recognize as my own, a symphony of gasps and moans that echo his name like a secret prayer.

"Been thinking about this all night," he growls, his voice rough and raw.

"You on your knees for me, mouth wide, swallowing me down that perfect throat.

The way your expression transforms when pleasure overtakes you, like a painting coming to life.

" He punctuates his words with deeper thrusts, each one emphasizing his need, his hunger.

"Knew you'd be fucking gorgeous, Princesse.

Knew you'd feel like heaven against my skin. "

He moves with me through the crescendo of sensation, his rhythm unfaltering, a steady drumbeat driving us both towards the edge.

My entire body quakes with release, waves of pleasure crashing over me, drowning me in ecstasy.

When he follows moments later, it's not with the loud declarations one might expect, but with a deep, satisfied exhale, a sound of contentment that resonates within me.

He catches me as I collapse, suddenly boneless, my chest heaving against his as we both struggle to steady our breathing, our hearts pounding in sync, a shared rhythm that feels like a promise.

In this moment, under the dim light, our bodies slick with sweat, we are not just lovers, we are explorers navigating uncharted territories, mapping out the geography of each other's desires.

The world outside could be crumbling but we wouldn't know, wouldn't care, because here, in this kitchen, we are the center of the universe, two celestial bodies colliding.

"Oh, my sweet Princesse, the night's not over yet," Bast pants, his voice a delicious rumble against my ear, one hand tracing lazy patterns along my spine. There's a promise in his words that sends a renewed shiver through my oversensitive body, despite my momentary exhaustion.

He takes me again beneath the shower's cascade.

The urgency gives way to something more devastating.

His fingers interlaced with mine against the cool tile, foreheads touching in unexpected intimacy as warm water streams down our shoulders.

We move with synchronicity, as though our bodies have always done this.

He touches me with contradictions, like I'm something precious yet untamed, something familiar yet mysterious.

Like he's memorizing every reaction, learning the geography of my pleasure with meticulous attention.

Like he's afraid I might shatter beneath his fingertips but can't stop himself from testing those boundaries.

His hands, strong and confident, explore every curve, every hidden place, drawing out gasps and moans that echo off the shower walls.

Each touch is a revelation, a secret whispered between our skin.

His mouth finds mine, his kisses deep and consuming, tasting of desire and something more, something that tastes like forever.

And when release claims me, my body trembling against his, nails marking half-moons into his shoulders as his name falls from my lips like a revelation—I recognize the truth of my undoing.

He's mapped more than just my body tonight.

He's charted territories I've kept guarded, claimed parts I never intended to surrender.

Hours later, we lie entwined in rumpled sheets, my cheek pressed against the steady rhythm of his heart, our skin cooling in the night air. I trace idle patterns across his chest, savoring this suspended moment. I could remain here indefinitely. Every cell in my body yearns to.

But beneath this perfect stillness lies an uncomfortable reality. This night wasn't the beginning of something beautiful. It was the conclusion of something that never truly began.

When the sun rises, Bast is already gone. No goodbye. No kiss. Just cold sheets and silence.