Isabelle threaded her fingers into his hair, holding him there, her other hand clutching the headboard for leverage as her body undulated against him.
He switched to the other nipple, teeth grazing the areola in a teasing scrape, the faint coppery taste of her skin blooming on his tongue while he hummed his approval, the vibration making her thighs quiver.
"You're doing so good, sweetheart," he praised between licks, his breath fanning her wet skin, cooling it into gooseflesh.
"Your tits respond to me like they were made for my hands. So responsive, sweetheart. You're going to feel everything I give you."
Tears pricked her eyes—not from pain, but from the raw intensity of it all. She'd never been touched like this…never felt so exposed, so desired.
