Chapter 3: Tongue fucked

SERAPHINA

“Quiet.” He drags rough fingertips down the inside of my thigh, stopping at my ankle and yanking my leg up higher so my heel digs into the counter and my pussy is completely spread and exposed. “Stay fucking spread. Don’t twitch. Don’t close. I want this sloppy hole on full display.”

I’m shaking already, clit throbbing visibly. He grabs the scotch bottle without looking away from my cunt.

He tips it slowly. Cold liquor hits my belly in a thick stream, splashing, running fast down my sides, pooling in the dip above my mound before dripping right over my clit and mixing with the mess already leaking out of me.

I hiss at the chill. It burns a little where it hits my overheated skin.

He slams the bottle down, and his mouth crashes onto my stomach first—big, sloppy licks scooping up the scotch, tongue flat and greedy, dragging over every inch until he’s following the rivulets lower. He bites the soft skin just above my clit, hard enough to sting, then soothes it with a long, wet swipe.

“Fuck, you taste dirty,” he growls right against my folds. “Scotch and pussy juice. My favorite fucking cocktail.”

He spits on my clit, thick and messy, then dives in.

No teasing. No gentle buildup.

He buries his face and eats me like he’s trying to devour me whole.

Long, filthy drags of his tongue from my dripping hole all the way up to my clit, slurping loud enough that the wet smacking echoes off the kitchen tiles. He groans into me, the vibration making my thighs quake. His nose grinds against my clit while his tongue spears inside, deep, curling, fucking me with fast, sloppy thrusts that make obscene squelching sounds every time he pulls back just to slam in again.

“Goddamn, listen to this pussy,” he mutters, voice muffled against me. “Soaking my chin, dripping down my neck. You’re making a fucking mess of me, Kitten.”

He yanks my thighs wider, fingers bruising the backs of my knees, folding me open until I’m practically split in half on the counter. Then he goes harder.

He sucks my clit into his mouth, hard, hollowing his cheeks, tongue flicking the tip in rapid, punishing strokes while two thick fingers shove inside me without warning. I scream, back bowing off the granite.

He pumps them brutally, curling, scissoring, stretching me open, while his tongue never stops attacking my clit. Spit and slick run down his wrist, dripping onto the counter in little wet patters. My hips jerk uncontrollably but he pins me down harder, growling into my cunt like an animal.

“Don’t you fucking dare come yet,” he snarls, pulling off just long enough to spit on my hole again before diving back in. “You clench one more time like that and I’ll edge you until you’re sobbing.”

But he doesn’t slow down. If anything, he gets messier.

He laps at my entrance in broad, greedy strokes, tongue fucking deep while his fingers keep slamming that spot that makes my vision go white out. My slick coats his face, chin, cheeks, dripping off his jaw. He’s drenched in me and he fucking loves it.

“Look at this mess,” he rasps, pulling back for a second to show me, his lips swollen, face glistening, beard shiny with my arousal. “You’re gushing all over Daddy’s face. Such a dirty little slut.”

He dives back in, sucking my clit so hard my toes curl, tongue lashing side to side while his fingers pound faster, deeper. The pressure builds unbearable—tight, hot, coiling low in my belly.

I’m right there.

“Eyes on me,” he barks, voice vibrating against my clit. “Watch Daddy eat this pussy while you come undone.”

I force my eyes open. There he is—Dominic Ashcroft, my sister’s husband, face buried to the nose in my cunt, eyes locked on mine, savage and possessive and completely fucking lost in me.

The wrongness hits like a drug.

I shatter.

My orgasm rips through me, hard, violent. I scream his name, thighs clamping around his head, pussy spasming and gushing around his fingers as he keeps licking, sucking, fucking me through every shuddering wave. Slick floods his mouth; he drinks it down like he’s dying of thirst, groaning low and filthy against me.

He doesn’t stop until I’m whimpering, oversensitive, twitching.

Then—a creak from upstairs. A door.

“Dominic? Baby? I’m coming down!”

Everything snaps still.

His fingers are still knuckle-deep inside me, pulsing with my aftershocks. His mouth lifts away slowly.

“Fuck.” He yanks his hand free; I whine at the sudden emptiness. “Get your shit together. Now.”

I scramble legs jelly, thighs slick and trembling. Dress? Fuck—where…

“Dominic?” Closer Footsteps.

“Coming, sweetheart!” His voice is calm, steady, even as he wipes his face roughly with his sleeve and straightens his tie with shaking hands. “Just getting water!”

He looks at me—eyes wild with guilt and leftover hunger.

“Back door. Go. Now.”

I yank the dress on, don’t even search for my soaked panties. No time.

“I’ll stall her,” he mutters. “Count to thirty. Come back through the garden. Say you were outside getting air.”

I nod, throat closed tight.

“Seraphina.” He grabs my wrist hard. “This—”

“I know,” I choke out, pulling away. “Never happened.”

Lie.

I stumble out the back, thighs sticky, clit still throbbing, pussy still fluttering around nothing.

I count thirty in the dark garden, slick cooling on my inner thighs, his spit and my come still smeared between my legs.

Then I sneak back in, climb the other stairs, and lock myself in my room.

I collapse against the door, chest heaving.

Dress crooked. Hair wrecked. Lips bitten raw.

Between my legs, I’m a dripping, aching disaster—still swollen, still leaking, still unfinished and screaming for his cock.

Downstairs they’re talking, laughing. His voice smooth as ever.

How the fuck does he do that? One second he’s tongue-fucking my soul out, the next he’s Mr. Perfect Husband?

Next time there won’t be a fucking interruption.

I’ll drug Elena’s tea heavier. Knock her out cold for hours.

Next time he’s going to ram that thick cock into me and fuck me raw until I’m screaming his name so loud the whole house hears.

And I won’t care.