⚠️ WARNING: DESCRIPTIVE MAKE OUT SECTION & CUNNILINGUS
...68...
MY MATE👫
He had tried, desperately tried to stay away from her and prevent it all.
The heavens and the earth and everything other single living and non living thing knew that he had tried with all that he had to keep his hands off of her.
Yet, it had not been enough, all of his efforts.
It was beyond him, her and all that she made him feel and he knew.
But he had tried to do all of it just to keep his masculine pride and save his whacking Linamine ego from a severe bruising.
Whang!
Yet it had been beautiful when the inevitable happened.
It has been shocking, explosive, hot and blinding, soul searing.
It has been too long, so long for the both of them, so long since he had kept his hands to himself like when he had married her.
And, it had been extremely torturous.
It has been so long since he had yearned a little desperately for that familiar soothing scent, that familiar sweet taste, those familiar appealing curves.
Wine never depreciated over time: it only appreciated, generously, fulsomely.
And so it was with her now, Cassiopeia, his wife, his only woman, his only mate.
She tasted better, sweeter, more passionate, more demanding and yet... more dangerous than he already knew her to be—his demon mate, Ninotchka.
The eloquent meeting of their lips was humongously explosive, heated, sweetly dangerous and rather pleasing.
The atmosphere grew hotter by several degrees as their souls merged alongside their mouths, ignescent.
He drew her closer to him—his hands around her waist possessive—lifting her against his body to be able to properly kiss her without holding back.
He liked it, that taste, that familiar taste of rose and spice, mild yet striking, causing his blood roar in his ears, beating waves against his heart.
It's sweetness was celestial rousing pleasure.
He savoured it intensely, drunk it in till he was inebriated.
The headiness that came with the intoxication was euphoric.
When she moaned sultrily against his mouth, he lost it to the whacking want that which had succeeded in dislodging from him from the reins of sanity.
He drew back from her lips to look at her properly, caressing her pretty face with his idle fingers.
'Ninotchka,' he said staring at her, his eyes effulgent like a serene moonlit night.
'Come,' she persuaded him, ' come to me Izhxel, my mate.'
That word, that endearment never fail to disorganize his brain.
It disoriented him, left him feeling helpless to her, made her a force majeure.
'I will,' he whispered, ' for I couldn't turn from you, even if I wanted to,' he said.
'Have, have me Izhxel.'
The words touched his possessiveness.
He met her lips halfway—his hands around her neck bringing her there—and kissed her.
YOU ARE READING
~HEARTS & FANGS~
Fantasi||-Ongoing-|| 'I hate you! I hate you! I'll never be the wife that you deserve!' 'I do not want the wife that I deserve Cassiopeia because it is you that I want.' 'Then,' she hesitated for only a moment, 'I'll never be a wife still yet yours!' she p...
