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I lay back on Beyoncé’s bed, my heart pounding in my chest as I watched her. She stood there, taking her time, peeling off her robe like she had all the time in the world. And honestly, I wasn’t even mad about it.
She looked so fucking good, standing there in her lingerie. Black lace that hugged her curves in all the right places, the straps framing her full breasts, the lace barely covering her hips. God, she was hot—like, next-level hot, the kind of woman you see in magazines and wonder if they’re even real. But she was real. And she was standing in front of me, giving me that smirk that drove me crazy.
I could already imagine how she’d look without it. All smooth, golden skin, that perfect hourglass body, her breasts spilling out, her hips swaying. Fuck, I could practically see her, naked and so damn fine, like some kind of goddess sent just to destroy me. I knew she would.
But she was taking her time, teasing me. Beyoncé always knew how to make me wait, how to get me so hot and desperate I was about ready to beg for it. And honestly, I was close. Real close.
She climbed onto the bed, her body sliding up between my legs, her warmth sinking into my skin as her lips met mine. The kiss was slow at first—just the soft brush of lips, the teasing flick of her tongue against mine, enough to make me whimper. I couldn’t hold back.
Her lips traveled from mine down to my neck, and I could feel her breath hot against my skin. I sighed as she kissed her way down, slow and deliberate, like she was savoring every inch of me. I was burning up, my whole body on fire just from her touch, her lips, her breath.
“Damn, Miss Knowles,” I whispered, my voice already thick with need.
She just chuckled, the sound vibrating against my skin as she kissed her way back up, her lips finding mine again. Her hand slid between my thighs, fingers pressing against me through the thin fabric of my underwear, and I couldn’t help it—I moaned. Loud.
Her fingers slipped beneath the fabric, her touch soft but firm as she slid them over me, her thumb pressing just right. I could feel my body responding instantly, hips lifting to meet her hand, she pulled her hand away. Beyoncé kissed me again, her tongue flicking against mine, slow and teasing.
She licked her own finger, locking eyes with me the whole time, her smirk growing wider. "You ready for me, baby?" she whispered, her voice like honey, thick and sweet.
I nodded, already too far gone to speak. She didn’t wait for an answer though—she never did. She knew exactly what she was doing.
Her fingers slid inside me, and I gasped, my back arching as she filled me with just the right pressure. Her thumb circled over my clit, and I swore I saw stars. My hands reached for her, grabbing at her hips, her back, anything I could hold onto as she worked me with those perfect fingers.
“Mmm, Onika,” she murmured against my neck, her breath hot, making my skin tingle. “You feel so good, baby.”
I couldn’t even respond, my words caught in my throat as I moaned again, louder this time. My body moved against hers, desperate for more, for everything she was giving me.
