The moonlight spills through the gauzy curtains, casting a silvery glow that dances across your body like a lover's caress. You lie sprawled on the bed, wrapped in black lacy silk that clings to your every curve like it was tailored for sin. The nightgown drapes over you like a secret too wicked to speak aloud--thin, sheer, shameless. Your nipples jut proudly through the fabric, hardened peaks straining for attention. The swell of your breasts, the bare curve of your thighs, the whisper of your breath--every inch of you is a fucking invitation.
You sleep on, blissfully unaware. Unprotected. Exposed.
I stand at the edge of the bed, cock aching, jaw clenched. The sight of you like this--so soft, so unaware--it's torture. It's heaven. It's mine. The sheets cover you like a lie, and I strip them away with reverence and hunger, exposing you inch by inch, until I can drink in the full masterpiece of your form. The air brushes your skin, your nipples tighten further, and a soft murmur escapes your lips. You shift slightly, thighs parting just enough to make me bite back a growl.
And then--fuck--my gaze falls to the tiny, black thong between your legs, soaked and clinging to your slit like it's begging to be ripped away. My control fractures.
I grip the velvet curtain ropes in my hands, feeling the plush texture tighten against my skin as darker urges flare. I loop them around your wrists, lifting them gently above your head, fastening them to the headboard with deliberate, slow intent. You sigh in your sleep--so trusting, so fucking perfect. Helpless. Spread for me. My prize. My plaything.
I kneel beside you, fingers brushing your throat, then down, skimming over your collarbone. Your skin is silk under my hands. I trail lower, fingers teasing the swell of your breasts, pinching your nipples through the lace until you whimper. My cock throbs with every sound you make. You shift, legs spreading a little wider, hips rolling as if your body already knows who owns it. Even in sleep, you crave me.
I push the nightgown up to your waist, exposing that barely-there thong, soaked through with your arousal. My breath hitches. I drag the material aside slowly, reverently, exposing your slick folds. Glimmering. Aching. So wet for me, it drives me mad.
I press my mouth to your heat, tongue flicking over your clit with a hunger that borders on savage. The taste of you--salty, sweet, intoxicating--makes my brain short-circuit. You moan, hips jerking, still lost in dreams, but your body arches, your thighs part, your cunt opens for me like a fucking flower in bloom.
I groan against you, tongue working slow, torturous circles before dragging down and pushing deep. You writhe, breath hitching into whimpers, and I don't stop. I don't give you time to think. I want you helpless, drowning in sensation.
Your eyes flutter open, hazy, confused--then wide with shock. Your lips part in a gasp, not sure whether to scream or moan. You expect him. But it's me. And the way my tongue devours you, the unrelenting pace, the raw fucking need--it could never be him.
Realization hits, your breath catches, and your body... betrays you.
You grind against my face, a filthy moan tearing from your throat. You test the ropes with a sharp tug, but there's no escape. Your thighs quiver, soaked and needy, and I add a finger, sliding into you, curling just right. The reaction is instant--your back arches, mouth open in a silent cry.
"Still want me to stop?" I ask against your dripping slit, voice a rough, taunting growl.
Your lips form the word "no," even as your mind struggles to catch up. "It's wrong," you whisper, breathless.
I slide another finger in, twisting, pumping, and your eyes roll back, jaw slack with surrender. "Then stop moaning like a whore," I growl, "and maybe I'll believe you."
You whimper, clenching around me, thighs trembling as your climax builds. I work you harder--tongue flicking your clit in ruthless rhythm, fingers thrusting deep, relentless. You're gone, undone, wrecked.
And when you break--when you cry out, soaking my face in your orgasm, hips bucking, chest heaving--I don't let you rest.
I crawl up your body, lips crashing to yours, forcing you to taste your own sweet filth. You moan into my mouth, lost in it, drunk on your own sin. Your body's still shaking, but your eyes--God, your eyes--burn with hunger.
"Untie me," you plead, voice hoarse, wild with need.
I chuckle, dark and low, lips brushing your ear. "Oh, baby," I whisper, fingers sliding back down your soaked slit, already working you up again. "We're just getting started."
As I climb over your spent, gasping body, something glints on the nightstand, catching the moonlight.
A picture.
