Page 4 of Midnight Kisses (Spicy Fat Cinderella Retelling)

PERRY

He launched at me like a flame leaping from a lighter, hands cupping my face as he pulled my mouth to his.

His lips were hot and hungry and I eagerly met each press.

My tongue ventured out, licking a request as politely as I dared.

He welcomed the intrusion, sliding his tongue against mine.

Our hands weren’t idle either; mine learned the contours of strong pectorals before I pulled at the buttons of his shirt—some sprung off and clacked as they hit the floor—but I didn’t stop kissing him.

He didn’t seem to care and I had a sewing kit; I could fix it later.

The stranger gripped fistfuls of my dress and began tugging it up my thighs as he walked me backwards to the chaise lounge.

My heel, still unbuckled, wobbled and I stumbled, but he wrapped a bracing arm around my waist, pulling me to him in a vice-strong grip as he kissed his way down my neck.

Nosing one dress strap off my shoulder, he hissed as my black lace bra was revealed.

“You’re delicious,” he growled into my neck. “These tits are heaven on earth.”

I shouldn’t like hearing the word tits as much as I did. It was rough. Coarse.

It should repel me, not make me slippery between the thighs.

The man’s eyes were aflame as he cupped me with both hands, marvelling at how his hands overflowed. “I could write poems about these, blondie. Truly. I’ve never written a poem—” He kissed me again. “But the urge to start is overwhelming.”

“We don’t—” I gasped, “—have time for poetry. It’s nearly midnight.”

“Throw my pants on the floor.”

I looked down at the fabric I still held, my brain slow to sort through his words. “We just got the wine stain out.”

He tugged them out of my hands and threw them down himself. “I don’t give a fuck about my pants. I’m happy to get on my knees in a bathroom for you, but these joints aren’t thirty-five anymore, I need some cushioning.”

“Oh.”

He was at least seven years older than me. Which was fine. Maybe I should have asked how old he was before I agreed to let him go down on me. Was that something people established before getting sexual with strangers? There were other things I should check too, like… .

I couldn’t think of any, other than, ‘ how fast can you make a girl come with your tongue? ’

“Maybe my pants won’t be enough.” He took a pillow from the chaise and tossed it on the floor. “There.” Then he nodded at the chaise. “You, sit.”

I did as directed and leaned back, propping myself up so I could see him over my belly as I gripped the hem of my dress and took over the task of tugging the fabric up my thighs. Emboldened by the hungry glint in his eye, I took my time, loving how powerful I felt.

A tortured groan fell out of his mouth. “For fuck’s sake. You’re the one who said we had to hurry. Let me.”

I gestured for him to help himself and he didn’t need telling twice. Roughly, he shoved the fabric up over my hips. Then the stranger dove, face first, into my pussy.

My rough exhalation made my bangs dance over my forehead.

I couldn’t do much but let my head fall back and try to hold onto my dress as he ran his nose up and down my lacy underwear, nuzzling as he breathed in.

A guttural inhale tumbled out of my mouth—it had been forever since someone had kissed me like this.

My ex-boyfriend was so bad at it I’d pretended it wasn’t something I was into.

But this handsome stranger was pressing wet, hungry kisses over the thin barrier of my underwear, and when his tongue darted out and sampled the wetness that had seeped into the fabric when I’d first caught sight of his erection, I shivered.

He lavished my pussy with attention like we weren’t in a public bathroom, fifteen minutes before midnight at one of the biggest events of the year.

He licked like he had all the time in the world.

I was squirming when he finally ran a finger along the edge of the lace, either testing or teasing me.

“Yes, please,” I breathed.

“Please what?” he said with a wicked grin, made all the more wicked by the framing of my knees on either side of his head.

“Please give me more.”

He ran one digit up and down my slit over my panties, teasing me.

“Not like that.”

“Like what? You can tell me. I’d love to hear something filthy come out of those prim, pretty lips.”

I hesitated.

In response, he put his finger in his mouth and sucked on it.

“That.” I nodded. “I want that. Inside me.”

“Just this one?”

I bit my lip, and he waited extremely patiently for a man on his knees with a raging erection. His eyes were only a few inches away from my spread legs now, and before I could worry if I was being too brazen—maybe there was no such thing?—I forced myself to speak.

“Maybe two?”

His middle finger joined his index in his mouth and he lasciviously drew them out, letting me see his saliva ease their passage.

“Since you asked so nicely.” His grin revealed a single mischievous dimple.

With his other hand, he gripped the top of my panties under the gentle fold of my belly and tugged them down. I kicked them off and didn’t look where they landed.

Then he got to work.

My stranger ate pussy like he made conversation; bluntly, with little regard for what was polite. His two fingers, wet from his mouth, added yet more lubrication as he ran them up and down my slit before using them to part my folds.

The first pass of his tongue against my very warm centre had me yelping.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t pause. He wrapped his other arm around my thigh and fastened his lips over my clit, sucking intently before releasing me from the exquisite torment and soothing that needy bunch of nerves with the point of his tongue.

No, there was nothing soothing about it, I decided.

There was barely time to breathe before he began circling my opening with the blunt tips of his fingers.

Before I could catch a thought, he was pressing one finger into my hot channel, then the second.

He screwed his fingers with little twists as his tongue flirted with my clit.

Everything below my belly felt hot and needy, and I was so wet the thrusts of his hand were becoming noisy.

I whimpered and must have been wiggling too much, because abruptly he pulled his fingers out.

Ignoring my protests, he wrapped both arms around my thighs, lifting me up to his mouth so he could devour me completely.

His tongue thrust at my entrance and he licked his way inside me, slurping up the juice from my body like it was the world’s most exquisite delicacy.

I threw an arm over my eyes and a moan escaped my throat—long, low and needy.

“What was that?” He looked up to ask.

When my head snapped back down to meet his eyes, my breath caught in my throat. I took in his smooth, perfect features and the dark circles under his eyes, which somehow made him look even more handsome. Right now, his grey gaze was ravenous as his mouth and chin glistened. That was from me.

I felt more alive in this moment than I could remember feeling in years—it was like driving fast with the windows down, or screaming into the wind.

Every feeling was heightened, every sense pinging.

I wanted to run, to scream, but most of all, to come.

Forcing myself to keep breathing, I studied the man’s heavy lidded expression and the dent his fingers were pressing into my thighs.

It was indescribably hot watching this moneyed prince on his knees for me, my arousal all over his face.

He would look handsome doing taxes, I was sure, but he looked especially handsome eating my pussy.

Obviously, I knew I was gorgeous, but sometimes if I wasn’t on guard other people’s small-brained toxicity could seep into my purview.

Cut to how wonderfully grounding and liberating it was to be intimate with someone like this guy, who saw me accurately as a hot babe and was expressive showing his attraction to me.

No matter how much mental work I did, or what stage of bodily acceptance I or anyone else reached, the experience of being adored and worshipped would always be potent.

“Please,” I said, my breathiness making the words staccato. “Please. Make me come.”

“What would get you there?”

“I want—” my bravery faltered, but I rallied.

You couldn’t half let a man eat you out in the bathroom at an event you were working, you had to whole do it.

My instinct was to tell him I wanted his cock inside me.

But that wasn’t the truth—it was just that a conditioned part of my psyche felt that his efforts thus far had been unreciprocated and he should get off too.

But this wasn’t a man who said things just because it was polite.

He said what he wanted to; did what he wanted to.

I’d known him for all of five minutes and I already knew that with complete certainty.

If he said he wanted to eat my pussy until I screamed, he meant I want to eat your pussy until you scream.

And I wanted that too.

I took a bracing breath and asked.

“I want you to finger fuck me while you suck on my clit. I want you to pump into me with your fingers, working me so that every step I take tomorrow makes me think of you.”

I had all of one heartbeat in the silent room to wonder if I had gone too far.

But he snarled— snarled— and drove his face back into my pussy.

When his fingers pressed back inside me, curling until he found the spot deep inside me, I keened. He bore down on it while he sucked my clit, and I gripped fistfuls of his hair as my feet started to tingle and my legs began trembling, shaking my curves.

Distantly, I heard the crowd outside begin a fervent countdown to midnight.

“Almost—” I panted.

He did what I asked then—pumping his fingers into me, rapidly parting my plush inner walls and making me wail, one long and endless sound that carried through every quivering nerve.

My legs flung out and my loose shoe fell from my foot.

With one final scream, I came. Hard. As cheering split the air and the faint pop of fireworks sounded, I orgasmed over my stranger’s face.

He sat back on his haunches and wiped a hand over his grinning, glistening mouth. “Happy New Year.”