My Taboo Harem!

Chapter 807: ...the Offering (r-18)

A/N:I am, milking this connection between them really, ain’t I? I want her to have this one after the falling apart. Allow it...

Phei’s left hand found her ass — the heavy, yielding globe that had been pressed flat against the mattress, its weight spreading the flesh into a wide, warm expanse that spilled slightly over his grip when he palmed it.

His fingers sank into the soft underside where cheek met thigh — that impossibly tender crease of flesh that gave beneath his hand like something designed specifically to be held — and he gripped her, pulling her hips up off the sheets, tilting her pelvis tighter against his mouth before releasing and delivering a single, precise slap.

Not hard or punishing.

Just sharp enough to send a jolt through her body that made her gasp and clench and then melt, the sting dissolving into heat that fed directly into the inferno his tongue was building at her centre.

The sound cracked through the room — sharp, intimate, obscene — and the flesh of her ass rippled from the impact in a visible wave that the moonlight caught and silvered, the heated skin flushing darker beneath his palm as he immediately soothed the sting with slow, possessive kneading.

His right hand rose to her chest to her breast — the left one, heavy and swaying with the rhythm of her writhing, the nipple jutting dark and swollen into the silver-lit air, still wet from his mouth, the areola tight and pebbled and flushed a shade deeper than its twin.

He closed around it. His fingers found her nipple — that thick, bruise-coloured bud that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat — and rolled it. Pinched it — gently, then firmer, calibrating the pressure to the pitch of her moans, increasing it when she went quiet and easing when she screamed.

The wet, stiff peak compressed between his fingers before springing back each time he released, flushed darker with every repetition, the sensitive flesh hot and slick against his skin as he rolled and tugged it with slow, deliberate mastery.

"AH — ahhh — oh gods — oh GODS — Phei — I — I can’t —"

His tongue slid from her clit — down through the slick, swollen folds, parting her inner lips, tasting the salt and sweetness of her arousal — to her entrance.

The opening was tight, wet, clenching in small rhythmic spasms as though trying to pull him in before he’d arrived.

He pressed inside.

She cried out and her walls gripped his tongue immediately, hot and slick and desperately, involuntarily welcoming, the textured ridges of her inner walls fluttering and squeezing around the intrusion as fresh, hot wetness flooded against his lips and chin.

Her hand flew to the back of his head, pressing him deeper, her hips grinding against his face with the uncoordinated desperation of a woman who had stopped existing as a person and become, temporarily, nothing but nerve endings and need.

He fucked her with his tongue — slow, deep, curling inside her, feeling the way her cunt clenched and rippled around him, tasting the fresh, copious evidence of her arousal flooding against his lips and chin — and then withdrew.

Phei dragged his tongue back up through her folds and through the slick, swollen valley, over each delicate inner lip before he found her clit again.

The bud had grown even harder, even more engorged, peeking fully from its hood now, and he sealed his lips around it and sucked.

The wet, obscene sound of his mouth working her filled the room between her broken moans.

Another slap on her ass; this one sharper, landing on the opposite cheek, the sound cracking through the room like punctuation, the flesh rippling from the impact in a wave that the moonlight caught and silvered — and his hand immediately soothed the sting, palm spreading warm across the heated flesh, gripping, kneading, his fingers pressing into the deep crease where the heavy underside of her ass met the soft junction of her inner thigh.

He could feel the heat blooming under his palm, could feel the way her skin had flushed from the slap, could feel the way her pussy clenched visibly every time his hand connected.

The hand on her breast switched to its twin and found the neglected nipple — slick and swollen from earlier attention, standing dark and rigid against the pale, moonlit swell of her breast — and rolled it between thumb and forefinger with a pressure that walked the razor-thin line between pleasure and something that would leave her sore and tender for days, the compressed bud flattening between his fingers before springing back each time he released, flushed darker with each repetition.

He was relentless.

That was the word she would use later, when her vocabulary returned and her body stopped vibrating. Relentless. Not in the manner of trying to prove something or the frantic, ego-driven performance of a lover who needed to hear her scream to validate his technique.

This was something else entirely.

This was a machine — a warm, devoted, exquisitely calibrated machine — that had identified every erogenous zone on her body and elected to attend to all of them simultaneously, without pause, without interruption, without permitting a single nerve ending to cool before reheating it with mouth or hand or the devastating, reality-altering hum of Goddess Fall Touch that turned his every contact into something her mortal body was not, strictly speaking, engineered to survive.

Tongue on her clit — circling, pressing, flicking, then sealing his lips around the swollen bud and sucking with long, rhythmic pulls while his tongue stroked the underside in steady, devastating strokes.

Left hand on her ass — gripping, slapping, soothing, the sharp crack of each impact followed immediately by the warm, possessive kneading of his palm as he worked the sting into deeper heat.

Right hand on her breasts — alternating, rolling, pinching, the wet, stiff peaks compressed and released between his fingers until they were dark, swollen, and trembling with every ragged breath she took.

No part of her unattended. No part of him idle.

"I’m — I’m going to — Phei — I — oh God — oh GOD —"

His tongue plunged inside her again. Deep. Curling. Withdrew. Found her clit. Circled it twice — slow, deliberate, torturous — and then pressed flat against it and held, letting the Goddess Fall Touch pulse through the contact in a sustained wave that bypassed her conscious mind entirely and detonated somewhere in the base of her spine.

Melissa came...

Not quietly with composure with any of the grace or restraint that defined her in every other arena of her existence.

She came with her back arched off the bed — spine curved into a bow that the moonlight traced from throat to tailbone in a single silver line — and her thighs locked around his head and her fingers buried in his hair and her breasts heaving in the pale light, nipples dark and swollen and trembling with each convulsion.

A gush of fresh, hot wetness flooded against his tongue and lips as her cunt clenched and fluttered in powerful, rhythmic spasms, the wet, obscene sounds of her orgasm filling the room between her broken, sobbing cries.

"PHEI — !"

Her body convulsed...

...Waves of it — shuddering, rolling, each one triggered by the continued, merciless attention of his mouth, which did not stop, did not slow, did not grant her the mercy of a single second’s reprieve as the orgasm crashed through her in successive detonations that left her gasping, writhing, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes not from pain but from the sheer, devastating overwhelm of being pleasured by a man who possessed, in his hands and his tongue and his patient, relentless devotion, the closest approximation to divinity that the mortal world had ever produced.

He stayed through every tremor, aftershock with his mouth gentling but never leaving, his tongue slowing to long, soothing strokes that guided her down from the peak with the same care he had used to carry her to it.

His hand on her ass went still — just holding, just warmth. His hand on her breast uncurled, palm resting flat over her heart, feeling it hammer beneath her ribs like something trying to escape.

Her breathing came in ragged, broken sobs.

Not sadness.

Phei lifted his head and looked up at her from between her thighs —

He rose slowly, the movement unhurried, and crawled up her body with the same deliberate reverence he had shown when he first descended. His chest brushed hers. His weight settled over her — not crushing, but anchoring, warm and solid and undeniably present. One arm slid beneath her shoulders, cradling her as he lowered his mouth to hers.

The kiss was nothing like the ones that had come before.

It was soft. Deep. Unhurried.

He let her taste herself on his tongue, let her feel the lingering tremor in his own breath, let her understand that this — this quiet, trembling closeness — was as much a part of his worship as every slap, every pinch, every relentless stroke of his tongue had been.

His hand found her cheek, thumb brushing away the tears that had slipped free, and he kissed her again, slower this time, as though he were sealing something between them that neither of them had words for yet.

Melissa’s arms came around him.

Not with the desperate grip of climax, but with the quieter and finally allowed herself to be held.

Her fingers traced the line of his spine, slow and absent, as though her body was still remembering how to exist in a world where she was not required to be strong every second of every day.

He broke the kiss only far enough to rest his forehead against hers.

"Breathe," he whispered, voice low and rough with everything he had not yet said aloud. "I’ve got you."

She did.

A long, trembling exhale left her lungs, and with it went something she had been carrying for years — the constant, invisible tension of being the one who never broke, never faltered, never let anyone see the cracks.