Love in London by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Fourteen

Oz

I love to see her face, to watch her eyes narrow and close with pleasure and then open wide with surprise when I drop to my knees in front of her. She’s so beautiful, I could stare at her forever.

But I won’t – because I want to make that look come over her face again. And I won’t achieve that by sitting around and doing nothing. I’ll achieve it by putting in the work to make it happen.

I set my hands to the sides of her knees and then slowly slide them up her thighs, watching her in the near darkness. I can only see a little of her face in the slim light that comes through the door, but what I can see entices me. The way she looks at me with an open question, a vulnerability, and yet with trust.

Somehow, she knows that I won’t hurt her or do anything she won’t enjoy. And that trust is something I want to repay in spades. She’ll know that she’s with the right man, that I’m the right one to take her virginity and claim her.

And I can’t wait to see how she tastes.

My hands slide all the way under her dress, lifting it up out of the way, revealing her panties. They’re white lace, dainty and delicate and feminine, and so perfectly suited to her that I’m not at all surprised. I glance up again and see her biting her lip, a look of combined confusion and expectation. She doesn’t know what I’m planning. She’s so innocent it almost breaks my heart. It’s almost a shame she can’t stay that way – but I’d much rather see her roll her eyes in pleasure and scream my name until she goes hoarse.

Maybe not today, though. That might attract a bit of unwanted attention to our hideaway.

I stroke my fingertips lightly across the hem of her panties, and see how she shudders involuntarily. I check up on her face again, see that lip between her teeth one more time, and read her expression. It’s not fear or revulsion that makes her shudder, but excitement. Anticipation. She wants this just as much as I do.

No, not just as much. Because that can’t be possible. I don’t know if anyone in the world has ever wanted anything this strongly.

I trace my fingertips back again just to see her shudder one more time, then hook them into the waistband of her panties. I only hesitate for a moment before beginning to move, pulling them down, down, ever so slowly, revealing a millimeter of skin at a time.

Her skin is so soft and warm under my fingertips, so perfect. I ghost those fingers down over her thighs and the panties come with them, revealing her pussy before me. Even in the dim light, I can see enough of her to know she is as gorgeous everywhere as I imagined. I drag the panties down to the floor, kissing the inside of her knees as I go, nudging her legs a little further apart after lifting one of her feet to disentangle the panties from around them.

Then I straighten again from my kneeling position, and the anticipation is so much I can barely keep myself steady. It’s not only myself that I’m thinking of, but her – and the thought of her pleasure turns me on so much it’s almost painful. I want to make her glow from within, want to feel the heat and desire taking over her body. I want to know that I’m the one to satisfy her every need.

I run my hands slowly up the sides of her legs again, seeing how she shudders one more time. She moves her legs, almost closing them again, but I shake my head as I look up at her and push them apart gently. She makes the tiniest sound in the back of her throat as my hands reach her hips, lifting her dress again, unveiling her once more. Like anticipation and nerves and uncertainty, but when I pause for a second to study her, she doesn’t tell me to stop. She doesn’t move to cover herself again.

I know she still wants this.

I move my hands first, tracing them lower and lower until finally I stop teasing and brush over the hot dampness of her slit, my fingers already coming away sticky. She whimpers again, this time a more throaty sound, of need and lust and readiness. I want to tell her to keep quiet, to avoid the risk of being found. But on the other hand, I want her to make all the noise she likes. I want to hear her, hear what I make her feel. How she can’t hold back.

I’m gentle and careful in my approach, landing kisses on the inside of her thighs and brushing my fingers across her heat, never too much at once, easing her into this gently. I know that all of this is new to her. I don’t want to overwhelm her – I want her to enjoy every stage, the whole slow build-up.

The longer we linger here, the more chance we’ll get caught. But that only adds to the excitement. And if we are, well – they won’t see much.

They won’t see much, because my head’s going to be under her skirt. I duck under it, letting it cover me, planting kisses closer and closer to her soaked pussy. Her hands clutch at my shoulders for support, even though she’s leaning back against the shelves.

And when my tongue flicks out to lap at her hole for the first time, those hands clench into fists in the fabric of my shirt.

I taste her then for the first time, take in the full fragrance of her, so sweet and enticing. Like I knew she would be. There’s no other thing in the world to compare it to, like a fruit that ripened only for me, never for anyone else. I lap at her again, stronger now, flicking my tongue back and forth across her bud until I find the spots that make her gasp for breath and hold me even tighter.

Her knees begin to bend, to buckle against me slightly, and I hear a shift of things moving behind her where she leans on them. I reach up to steady and brace her, holding her by the hips so she won’t fall, letting her lean on me too. I hear her breathing changing the more I work her over, from long breaths to short pants, from barely audible to loud enough I wonder if we’ll be heard. Every now and then she makes a quiet sound – “ah, ah,” in the back of her throat – that makes me redouble my efforts on those spots.

She’s wet beneath me, and not just because of the lubrication of my tongue. She’s trembling, everything in her whole body and mind tuned to this one point of pleasure, to the nerves that I know must be tingling and responding to everything I do. She’s so delicious, in so many different ways. The pressure of her hands on my shirt increases as the pleasure does, and I take pride in bringing her to the edge, holding her there, making her shake and gasp and moan.

Moan?

Maybe that one was a little loud.

But I can’t wait any longer. As much as I would like to draw this out, I need to finish it before we get caught. I find that one spot that made her moan before and swirl my tongue around it again, faster, faster, faster–

She cries out a full moan as she comes, her whole body tensing and jerking under my hands, her sex flooding me with her juices and exploding on my tongue. I angle it inside for one last taste, one feel of those muscles tightening around me rhythmically, and then I move away. I get to my feet fast, knowing there’s a good chance someone will have heard us. I wait, tense, but no one comes.

I watch her face, how her eyes slowly open again, how she blinks a few times like a newborn foal coming out into the world. Unsteady on her legs. How a glow seems to suffuse her now, making her flushed and contented.

Beautiful.

I lean down to kiss her, more chaste this time because if I do anything more we might never leave this place. “Good enough to keep you going until tomorrow?” I ask.

“Yes,” she murmurs breathily – just that – like she can’t manage to bring herself to say anything more sensible.

I chuckle in her ear, then take her hand. Turning, I press my eye to the tiny crack in the doorframe and look through it, seeing as much as I can. The corridor appears to be clear, at least as much as I can make out.

We steal out into the hall and then out – passing a bemused tour guide at the entrance, waiting for his next group, before bursting out into laughter further down the street.