twitch.
"You don't want to tease me."
"Oh?"
I nod, "You have two choices here."
"Do I?"
I allow my mouth to curl, "Either you fuck the bottle and get fucked in the arse by me, or—"
Her chest heaves.
"Or, you fuck the bottle and I fuck you in the cunt, then in the arse."
"Choices, choices," her voice wobbles.
"Take that bloody wine bottle and ride it, Amelie, or I swear, I'll spank you so much you won’t be able to sit down for months."
She scoffs, "You exaggerate."
"Do I?" I lower my eyebrows, "Give me a chance to demonstrate just how much I enjoy delivering on my threats." I peel back my lips, "Do it, Amelie. One chance to get my hand on that beautiful curved behind, Princess."
"Jeez," she swipes her hair over her shoulder, "some people have no sense of humor."
"Humor, huh?" I pump my hips forward, impale the bloody apple pie—the hell am I doing? Fucking an inanimate object, when the focus of my obsession is right in front of my eyes.
She shivers, my thigh muscles spasm, and this entire scene is bloody wrong... and so fucking right. "Don't keep me waiting," I grind out.
She swoops down, grabs the wine bottle, brings it to her mouth, then proceeds to close her lips around it, taking it in—as she had my cock, previously. Holy mother of all that's dear to me... That has to be the hottest thing I have ever seen— No, Amelie pulling the bottle out of her mouth, only to lower it between her thighs? That... I swallow. That is bloody erotic. And it shouldn't be. I mean, it is a woman—my woman, turning me on, by easing herself down onto the neck of the bottle. It is not what I expected from her. It's everything I wanted her to do.
My cock lengthens. I grip my fingers around the damned plate of apple pie and follow her movements. In-out-in... She parts her legs, sinks down onto the bottle, the length of which disappears inside her pussy.
My shaft jerks; a pressure coils in my balls.
"Jesus, Princess," I snarl, "you're fucking turning me on."
Her breasts rise and fall, she straightens, lifts her gaze to mine, holds the connection, then impales herself again. She groans and the blue of her irises fades, leaving behind large pupils so black, they seem to take up most of her irises. My throat closes and my heart begins to race. I stare into her eyes, kick my hips forward again. Her movements intensify; so do mine. A bead of sweat trickles down her throat, trails down the shadow between her breasts. My pulse thrums; the blood pumps in my veins. I grip the plate of pie, push into the melting core, again and again. My balls draw up, the pressure in my groin tightens, harder, further, my senses pop, my vision narrows. "Come," I growl.
And she throws her head back, arches her spine, and reveals the slim column of her throat; a shudder grips her body, her thighs clench, a low keening moan spills from her lips, and I can't stop myself. My balls draw up and I come, shooting my load inside the fucking pie. I straighten, slap the plate with the dessert onto the table.
Her legs seem to weaken. She sways, then raises the bottle of wine from between her legs. Her knuckles are white and her hand trembles. She blinks, then licks her lips. She tips up her chin; I crook my finger at her.
She hesitates.
I jerk my chin. She takes a step forward, and another. She closes the distance, pauses in front of me. Tips the bottle of wine to her lips and drinks from it. Her throat moves as she swallows; a drop of red trickles down her chin. I scoop it up, bring it to my mouth and suck on it.
Her gaze follows my actions; her lips part. She holds out the bottle of wine to me. Is she daring me? Does she think she can match me step for step? Does she? I snatch the bottle from her, raise it to my mouth and chug down a mouthful. The complex notes of wood and cherries, chocolate and honey.
I lower the bottle. "Perfect with pie," I declare.
"Isn't it?" Her lips quirk.
She reaches for the serving spade on the table.
"What are you doing?" I growl.
"What do you think?" She cuts off a slice, brings it to her mouth, "Should I eat it?"
The fuck? I glare at the piece of pie, then at her face.
"You wouldn't."
"Wouldn't