Do it slow. Make eye contact.

Do it slow. Make eye contact.
Liana's POV

We came synced, his growl vibrating through the phone like a physical touch, rumbling straight to my core where the vibe still hummed low, drawing out the aftershocks. I slumped against the pillows, thighs slick and quivering, the room spinning softly in the dim light of my bedside lamp. The faint glow from the Christmas lights Clara had strung across the deck filtered through the curtains, casting twinkling patterns on the walls like distant stars mocking my solitude. My body felt like a live wire—oversensitive, spent, yet craving more, the kind of ache that only Dante could truly soothe. I pulled the vibe out slowly, the wet slide making me hiss, and held it up to the camera, glistening with my release. "See what you do to me? Soaked. But it's cold now—not hot like your cum would be, filling me up, leaking out slow."

Dante's chuckle was breathy, satisfied, his chest still heaving on screen as he grabbed a tissue, wiping away the ropes of cum that painted his abs and thigh. His cock lay half-hard against his leg, twitching as if ready for another round already—that endless stamina of his always left me breathless. "Fuck, Li, you're killing me. Lick it clean—taste yourself for me. Imagine it's my dick, coated in us after I've fucked you raw." His voice dropped lower, that commanding edge creeping back in, even post-orgasm. "Do it slow. Make eye contact."

Heat flushed my cheeks, but I obeyed, bringing the toy to my lips, tongue darting out to lap at the slick silicone. Salty-sweet, musky with my arousal—the flavor sparked fresh need between my legs. "Mmm—like us mixed. Your cum thick and hot, mine creamy around it. Remember that time in the pool house? You came inside, then made me push it out onto your tongue—fed it back to me in a kiss." My free hand trailed down my stomach, fingers circling my swollen clit idly, keeping the embers alive.

He groaned, hand drifting back to his length, stroking lazily. "How could I forget? You tasted like sin—our forbidden blend. God, Li, you're so filthy for me. Turn over—ass up. Show me that pretty hole, still pulsing. Spread for the camera."

I rolled onto my stomach, knees under me, arching my back to give him the view. The cool air hit my exposed skin, making me clench, and I reached back, parting my cheeks. "Like this? Dripping still—your words did this. Wish your tongue was here, rimming me slow, dipping in while your fingers fuck my pussy."

"Fuck yes," he rasped, his strokes picking up, camera angling lower to show his cock hardening fully again. "I'd eat you out from behind—tongue deep in your ass, fingers curling in your cunt, thumb on your clit. Make you beg for my cock there. But for now, finger your ass—use your wetness. Push in slow, tell me how it feels."

The command sent a thrill through me, taboo and intoxicating. I slicked a finger through my folds, gathering moisture, then pressed it to my rim—circling first, teasing the tight ring before easing in knuckle-deep. "Tight—burns a little, then... ah, good. Full, but not like you. Your cock stretches me wider, throbs hotter. I'd rock back on it, beg you to spank me while you thrust."

"Add another," he ordered, voice strained, fist pumping faster. "Fuck yourself—imagine me behind you, gripping your hips, slamming in. 'Take it, stepsis—your ass is mine, just like the rest of you.'"

Two fingers now, scissoring gently, the stretch pushing me toward another edge. My hips bucked, free hand rubbing my clit in frantic circles. "Yes—spank me red, pull my hair. Fuck me until I can't walk, cum deep inside so it leaks out messy."

"Come again," he demanded, his own rhythm faltering. "Squeeze those fingers—milk them like my dick. Scream for me, Li—no one's home to hear."

The orgasm ripped through me unexpectedly, smaller but fierce, my ass clenching around my fingers as I cried out his name, face buried in the pillow to muffle the volume. On screen, he followed with a guttural moan, fresh cum spilling over his hand—less this time, but the sight still made me twitch.

We panted in unison, the connection crackling with our shared exhaustion. "You're insatiable," I whispered, collapsing flat, fingers slipping free. "How are you already hard again? Save some for tomorrow."

He smirked, cleaning up with a lazy swipe. "For you? Endless supply. But yeah—rest now. Dream of the real thing. Airport, bathroom, all of it. Love you, my dirty girl."

"Love you more, my cheesy knight." The call ended, screen going dark, leaving me in the quiet hum of the bungalow. I cleaned up with a washcloth, the cool fabric soothing my overheated skin, then curled under the sheets, body finally surrendering to sleep. Dreams blurred the line: Dante's arrival, his hands pinning me in the restroom, thrusts echoing off tiles; then Bali beaches, him taking me in the surf, waves crashing as he claimed every hole under the moon.

Christmas morning hit with Clara's off-key caroling blasting from the kitchen—"Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la..." I groaned, sunlight stabbing through the blinds like accusatory fingers. My body ached in the best ways—thighs sore from tensing, core tender from multiple releases, a faint throb in my ass from last night's self-exploration. Nine days? No—zero. He was en route, hours away. The thought sent butterflies rioting in my stomach, heat pooling low despite the fatigue.

I stumbled out of bed, slipping on a robe over nothing, the silk teasing my sensitive nipples. Clara was in full holiday mode: Santa hat perched on her messy bun, flipping pancakes while prosecco fizzed in glasses. The living room tree twinkled with ornaments we'd scavenged from thrift shops, gifts piled underneath like colorful promises. "Merry Christmas, sleepyhead!" she chirped, sliding a plate my way—pancakes stacked high, bacon crispy, fruit on the side. "Eat up—your man's landing soon. Need energy for all that... reuniting."

I flushed, sinking into a chair, the wooden seat cool against my bare skin under the robe. "Thanks. And merry to you too. Smells amazing." I dug in, the sweet syrup exploding on my tongue, grounding me amid the nerves. My phone buzzed—Dante: In the air. Hard thinking of you. Send a teaser—tits or ass, your choice.

Heat surged, and I excused myself to the bathroom again, robe slipping open as I snapped a shot: bent over the sink, ass up, fingers spreading to show the faint redness from last night. Caption: Waiting for your handprints. Land safe. Sent. His reply: Fuck—landing with blue balls. Love the view. See you soon.

Back at the table, Clara eyed me knowingly. "That him? You're glowing already. Spill—how's the plan shaping? Bali villa booked? Fake names set?"

I nodded, sipping the mimosa—bubbly and tart, loosening the knot in my gut. "Villa's oceanfront, private infinity pool. Names: Elena and Dario Voss—dive instructors by day, I guess. Money's crypto-transferred, untraceable. Richard's radar might ping the flight, but by then, we'll be ghosts." Saying it aloud made it real, a mix of thrill and terror. Richard Rossi—Dante's dad, my stepdad—had built his real estate empire on ruthless control, treating us like assets. Our affair? A scandal he'd bury us for. But we'd siphoned funds, forged docs, planned this rebellion in whispered calls and encrypted texts.

Clara whistled, topping off my glass. "Voss, huh? Sounds posh. Suits you—Elena Voss, beach goddess. Just... watch your back. Families like that don't let go easy." She raised her glass. "To new beginnings—and epic sex marathons."

We laughed, exchanging gifts: her a custom surf necklace, me a journal for "chronicling the adventure." Hugs followed, misty-eyed— she'd been my Aussie anchor, but Dante was my storm.