Tasting

56–Oil My P*ssy Really Good 

Nora: 

His hands were strong and big. The way he massaged my shoulders and neck, then smoothly moved onto my chest from behind, was really heightening my arousal even more. I kept my bottom lip between my teeth as his hands reached for my cleavage. 

“Ehm!” I heard him groan a little as he gently squeezed my partially exposed breasts. I didn’t know if it was okay for me not to stop him, but I couldn’t help but wish he would slide his hands all the way into my shirt and grasp my breasts. 

I shifted slightly when his finger slipped under my shirt and 

accidentally brushed over my areola. It seemed like he noticed too because he suddenly stopped and cleared his throat, pulling away from me. He moved around to my front and continued to rub oil between his palms. 

At this point, I was wondering why he wasn’t finished yet. But, oh well, it’s not like I was complaining. I silently watched him bury his head and concentrate on his hands. As he vigorously rubbed his palms, I observed how s*xily his body moved. His hair bounced, and the gentle bulge in his pants danced. 

Wait! Why wasn’t he hard already? 

I almost took offense to it. While I stared at him bluntly, he raised one brow and quickly shot me a glance without lifting his head. In that moment, I felt like he was trying to tell me that he knew I had been eyeing him for a very long time. So, I awkwardly looked down. He then grabbed another stool, much lower in height and 

His hands landed on my thighs, and I lost my breath. The slow grazing up to the very top of my leg and then gently squeezing his hand between my legs was making me feel restless. I had one leg crossed over the other, but I’m sure he could still see some part of my private area, and it made me blush. 

He continued to massage the oil all over my legs, but then his focus. shifted to pushing his hand between my tightly shut thighs. It was as if it was a game for him. He seemed to enjoy the challenge of pushing his hand inside, and every time he pulled his hand out, he went a little higher until his pinky grazed over my p*ssy lips, and I lost my mind. 

“F**k!” As soon as that exclamation escaped my lips, he shot me a glance through his eyebrows and then pulled away. 

“F**k! I think I forgot to lock my bedroom window,” I couldn’t just leave it there. So I slapped my forehead and almost exposed myself to him before quickly putting my hands over my chest to make sure the shirt didn’t slide all the way down. 

“Aha!” he tossed the stool aside with his leg, grabbing a towel to clean his hands. 

Everything he did was mesmerizing, and I hated my body reacting to it. 

“I’ll go check it,” he mumbled in his heavy tone. After he left, I slapped myself and looked down. 

“Shit!” 

I was wet. 

The f**k! 

-O My P*ssy Really Good 

hate myself. 

Somebody should come kill me. 

You know what, a monster should eat me alive. 

But if it also excites me, am I just a horny bitch? 

I glanced around for a tissue and hopped off the stool to grab it. Then I started to clean myself vigorously, all the while cursing myself out. loud. 

“The windows are closed–,” his voice reached me first, and as I raised my head, I saw him quickly turn his back to me and raise his hands in the air as if to show his shock.” 

“The oil! It was too oily,” I mumbled through my gritted teeth. 

“Okay, let me know when you are ready again,” his voice sounded cold. 

I slowed down and tossed the tissue before taking my spot. 

“I’m finished,” I announced, but he didn’t even give me a smirk or tease me about it. He walked over to his canvas and started painting. 

I wasn’t very happy. 

I don’t know, but I felt kind of disappointed, or like I wasn’t too captivating. 

I know I shouldn’t be thinking like that, but it somehow affected me. And for the rest of the night, he didn’t even make eye contact with me. 

He focused on his painting, only glancing my way to assess the strokes. The more time passed, the sadder I felt. 

After dawn broke, he set his brush down and gestured for me to get off the stool. 

“We’ll finish the rest later,” exhaustion evident in his voice. Maybe he didn’t enjoy painting me. 

I scoffed as I hopped off and hurried out of his studio while he was still gathering his things. 

Once in my bedroom, I took off his shirt and tossed it on the ground. 

“What an egotistical jerk,” I hissed, wishing I could have yelled. I took a shower and changed into blue baggy pants and a white sweater before leaving the bedroom for breakfast. Lord Atwood and Silas had returned for breakfast but were planning to leave again. 

They were seated at the kitchen counter, eating quickly as I greeted them with a smile. Cain was on the other side of the counter, possibly cooking for the first time in his life. 

The pancakes were in odd shapes, and there was a mess on the counter from him. 

He glanced at me briefly before continuing to eat and discuss pack matters with his father. I could sense their stress. 

“Do you want pancakes? Try 

, don’t worry about their shapes. They taste really good,” Lord Atwood offered, and Cain tried to get me a plate when I declined. 

“No thank you. I’ll grab an apple,” I avoided Cain and went behind the counter to wash an apple. 

“We should leave now,” Silas said, focused solely on pack matters at the moment. 

ain was leaning on the counter, eating, when his father and Silas left. ow it was just the two of us when Cain straightened his posture and eared his throat.. 

Come with me,” he said, and without hesitation, I replied, “No!” 

felt a shift in his attitude and then I remembered he hates being denied.