“I will be punished for indulging in your sweetness, dear Juliet.” My lips barely moved as I spoke against her inner thigh, but the impromptu grind in her hips told me she’d heard me clearly. “We are not fated to be together, yet I cannot stay away, and I willingly drown myself in sin for a taste of your love.”
Her panting hitched, though I detected a hint of amusement on her mouth similar to that which I’d seen when we sat across from each other in the pizzeria. “Romeo never said that.”
“No.” My voice was little more than a snarl. I pinned my eyes to hers, poised myself barely an inch above her loins, and licked my lips. “I’m saying it.”
Then, I swooped down upon her like a hawk on a helpless field mouse. My tongue plunged between her petals to drill into her soaked tunnel as my upper lip massaged her clit, which swelled with stimulation at my ministrations. Her entire body from ass to shoulders curved as gracefully as the St. Louis Arch, and she let out a plaintive moan that filled the room as thoroughly as the oxygen we breathed. Her flavor was, indeed, as sweet as I’d told her. Cherries. Ripe, juicy, delectable black cherries. I stroked my tongue along every ridge, taking special care to lap at the spongey bundle of nerves behind her pubic bone, and swallowed every drop of arousal I extracted.