So wet

So wet
Liana’s POV

I complied without hesitation, my heart racing with that familiar thrill—the kind that had ignited our passion in hidden Bali huts and moonlit Douro vineyards, now blooming freely in the safety of our New York sanctuary.

The silk ties bit softly into my wrists as Dante secured them to the headboard, the fabric cool and unyielding against my heated skin, leaving me exposed and vulnerable on the bed. My knees dug into the plush mattress, spread wide apart, my ass lifted high like an offering to some ancient god of desire.

The room was dim, lit only by the soft, amber glow of a bedside lamp that cast long, flickering shadows across the walls, highlighting the graceful curve of my back, the subtle dip of my waist, and the glistening evidence of my arousal already trailing down my inner thighs.

I could feel the cool air of the room kissing my bare skin, raising goosebumps along my arms and legs, my pussy already slick and throbbing with anticipation, still tender from our morning quickie and the endless, feverish rounds of the night before.

The faint scent of our earlier lovemaking lingered in the air—musky and intoxicating, mixed with the subtle vanilla from the candles we'd lit earlier—like a fine port wine left to breathe, deepening with every passing moment.

Dante stood behind me, his presence a palpable heat that radiated like the sun-warmed terraced hills of Portugal. I heard the soft rustle of his clothes as he shed the last of them, his bare feet padding closer on the hardwood floor.

His hands traced slow, deliberate paths down my spine, fingertips light as feathers at first, sending electric shivers racing through me, then firmer, possessive, as if mapping every inch of my body anew. "Look at you, Liana—tied and ready, dripping for me like always," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, laced with that possessive edge that made my core clench involuntarily, a fresh gush of wetness escaping me.

One hand cupped my ass cheek, squeezing firmly, kneading the flesh with a rhythm that mirrored the pulse between my legs, before delivering a light smack that echoed sharply in the quiet room. The sting bloomed into a delicious warmth that spread straight to my clit, making it throb with need. "Remember Bali? That rickety bed in the jungle, you bound just like this while rain pounded the roof? I teased you for hours until you screamed my name, your body shaking like the storm outside."

I whimpered, pushing back against his touch as much as the ties allowed, my hips swaying in a desperate plea for more. The restraint only heightened the sensation, every tug on the silk sending sparks of frustration and arousal through me. "Yes—god, yes, Dante. The rain was our cover, drowning out my cries while you edged me over and over. Do it again. Tease me, make me beg. I need your mouth on me, your fingers... everything. Please, D—touch me deeper, make me ache for your cock." My voice was breathy, needy, laced with the raw hunger that only he could ignite, the ties pulling taut as I tested them, the delicious burn in my shoulders amplifying every word.

He chuckled darkly, a sound that vibrated through the air like distant thunder over Tuscan fields, kneeling behind me with agonizing slowness. His breath was hot against my inner thighs as he spread me wider, his strong hands gripping my hips to hold me steady, exposing me fully to his gaze.

I could feel his eyes on me, devouring the sight of my slick folds, the way my arousal glistened in the low light. "Greedy, aren't you? But I love it—love how you beg for my cock, my tongue, like you're starving for me even after I fucked you senseless this morning." His fingers traced my folds first, light and torturous, gathering my wetness on his tips before circling my clit with feather-soft strokes that had me gasping, my hips bucking futilely against the air, chasing the pressure he withheld.

"So wet already, leaking from this morning's load. Taste yourself?" He slipped two fingers inside me suddenly, curling them deep to hit that sensitive spot with unerring precision, pumping slow and deliberate while his thumb pressed my clit in lazy, maddening circles that built friction like a slow-burning fire.

"Oh fuck—deeper, Dante, please," I moaned, my face buried in the pillow to muffle the sound, though the house was quiet with Aria fast asleep down the hall, her innocent dreams far removed from our sinful ritual. The fullness was maddening, his fingers thick and insistent, stretching me just enough to tease the promise of more, my walls clenching around him rhythmically, trying to pull him in further. "Add another—stretch me like you did in that Portuguese cellar, amid the wine barrels. I need to feel full, need you to make me drip even more."