Devoured

It started with her lips.

Soft, full, painted in a shade that promised sin. They hovered close, teasing, not quite touching, until they did. And when they did, it was like fire under skin.

Her kiss wasn’t gentle. It was hungry. Juicy, wet, open-mouthed, tasting me like she’d been starving for it. Her tongue slipped past mine with ease, confident, playful, like she already knew how to make me melt. My hands went to her waist, but she pressed a finger to my chest, not yet, and dropped lower, her lips trailing behind.

Down my neck, slow and wet. She sucked, licked, left little marks like she wanted to own every inch. Her breath was warm, and her mouth, God, her mouth, was made to drive me insane. She explored me like a map, lips parting over skin, tongue flicking, tasting the sweat rising as she descended.

She kissed my chest, bit gently at my ribs, then dipped her tongue into my navel like it was an invitation. Her fingers traced patterns on my thighs, but it was her mouth that made me tremble.

When she reached the place I throbbed for her most, she didn’t rush. She kissed there first, slow, deliberate, her lips wrapping around me with reverence and heat. Then she began to move, up and down, deep and deepening, her eyes locked on mine, moaning just enough to let me feel it.

It wasn’t just pleasure. It was worship. Her lips praising every inch of me like I was something holy she intended to ruin.

And I let her.

Because once those lips touched me, I was already hers.