Nod yes — let Marco kiss me and put his mouth on my body.

Marco's House (First House), Breedmore Lane, at 8:22 PM on Friday October 31, 2024.

I nod. Just a tiny dip of my chin, but it's enough. Marco's eyes flash — that amber glow brightening for a heartbeat — and then his mouth is on mine.

His lips are impossibly warm. Soft at first, pressing gently, tasting me. I've never been kissed before and my whole body goes rigid with shock at the sensation — the wet slide of his tongue tracing my lower lip, the scrape of something sharper than it should be against the inside of my mouth. He tastes like cinnamon and something darker, wilder. A low groan vibrates from his chest into mine and I feel my hands come up instinctively, gripping the front of his apron.

"Good girl," he breathes against my mouth. "Open for me."

I part my lips and his tongue pushes inside — thick, insistent, claiming. He kisses me like he's devouring me, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other sliding up my bare thigh to grip my hip. My pussy throbs so hard I can feel my heartbeat between my legs, my thong already soaked through. The aphrodisiac is singing in my blood, turning every nerve ending into a live wire.

Marco breaks the kiss and I whimper — actually whimper — chasing his mouth. He chuckles, low and rough, and his lips travel to my jaw, my neck, the hollow of my throat. His teeth graze my collarbone and I shudder violently.

"Lie back for me, Bambi," he murmurs, his hands guiding me down onto the velvet cushions. "I want to taste this sweet little cunt."

The word sends a bolt of electricity straight to my clit. Before I can process it, he's kneeling between my parted thighs, pushing the tiny red skirt of my costume up around my waist. His large hands hook into the sides of my thong and drag it down slowly — the damp fabric peeling away from my swollen pussy lips with a soft, obscene sound.

"Fuck," Marco growls, his voice dropping an octave into something almost inhuman. His nostrils flare. "You're dripping, sweetheart. Your little virgin pussy is gushing."

I am — I can feel it, the slick heat coating my inner thighs. My pussy is completely bare and exposed to his burning amber gaze, the lips puffy and flushed pink, my clit swollen and peeking out from its hood. I've never been looked at like this. Never been seen like this.

Then his mouth is on me.

His tongue — broad, hot, impossibly dexterous — drags a slow, flat stroke from my entrance to my clit. I cry out, my hips bucking off the couch. The sensation is overwhelming — wet heat and pressure exactly where I need it, his tongue circling my clit with deliberate, maddening patience. He groans into my flesh like I'm the most delicious thing he's ever tasted, and the vibration makes my thighs clamp around his head.

"That's it," he rasps between licks, his hands pressing my thighs wider apart. "Let me eat this tight little hole. You taste like heaven, Bambi. Like ripe fruit. Like something I want to breed."

His tongue pushes inside me — actually pushes into my virgin opening — and I scream. It's not pain, it's pure, blinding sensation. My walls clench around the writhing muscle and my back arches off the couch. He fucks me with his tongue in slow, deep strokes while his nose grinds against my clit, and I can feel something enormous building in my core — a pressure I've never experienced, a wave gathering behind a dam that's about to break.

"Please," I hear myself gasp, though I don't know what I'm begging for. "Please, please, please —"

Marco's amber eyes look up at me from between my trembling thighs, his mouth still sealed over my pussy, and he smiles against my flesh.