Arwen
Viggo’s tongue replaces his fingers, lapping at me with unhurried strokes that have my fists twisting in the sheets beneath me.
‘You taste even better than I’d imagined.’ He tells me telepathically.
My eyes roll behind my lids, and my thighs quiver. My hips buck against Viggo’s mouth as he flicks my c**t with the tip of his tongue.
What is this feeling?
I have never been touched so intimately. I don’t understand what’s happening to my body!
The scent of my arousal thickens the air, mingling with the musk of Viggo’s own need. It makes my eyes roll again. When he slides two fingers back inside me, curling them just so, my cry of pleasure would be enough to shatter against the stone walls – if I could make a sound outside of my head, at least.
Viggo revels in the way I come apart
