Page 22 of Bedeviled

Goddess, I think I might be drunk. Heavily buzzed at the very least. It’s humbling to know that even without witch’s brew in my system, I’m still obsessed with getting dicked down by this man.

He flashes me a wolfish smile. “Please what?”

I move against him suggestively. “Do things.”

“What things?”

Ugh.

“Horny husband things.”

“That was unimpressive begging. But it is our wedding night, and you are a queen and ill-suited to begging, so I suppose I can be generous.” He lies back down on the blanket and tugs on my waist. “Come closer, little wife.”

Straddling him as I am, I don’t exactly know how I’m supposed to get closer. I end up just scooching forward.

More.

I’m sitting right at the center of his rib cage, and now I move up farther, toward his pecs.

He lets out a little sigh, then bodily moves me until my pussy is on his face, his head swallowed up by my filmy skirts, which his magic moves about.

“Memnon!” I gasp out.

He laughs against the fabric of my panties, the warm air oddly erotic against my core.

“You sound awfully shocked for a horny wife.”

“Memn—” His name morphs into a yelp when his hand comes between us and rips off my panties.

“You are a menace,” I say, glancing down at where his head should be. All I see are volumes of white.

“I am merely doing my queen’s bidding. Now, where do you want my mouth?” he asks. “Here?” He kisses my inner thigh.

No…

Here? He brushes his lips against my other thigh.

“No.”

He must hear the edge of my annoyance, because I can feel his lips pull into a smile.

“Here,” he says with certainty as he gives my outer folds a kiss.

“Memnon.” I begin to get up when he spreads my lips apart and kisses my clit.

I let out a surprised cry, tipping forward. There’s nothing to brace my hands on except this flimsy blanket. The action causes my pelvis to move, and reflexively I lift my hips up a little.

Ah, ah, ah, little witch, where do you think you’re going?

It’s clearly a rhetorical question, however, because before I can even try to formulate a response, Memnon wraps his arms around my upper thighs and presses my pussy deeper against his mouth.

I let out a soft, breathless moan as he gives it another kiss, his tongue laving the sensitive skin.

He groans. Now, this is sweetness, he says. You taste far, far better than cake.

Memnon eats me out in earnest then, his lips and tongue everywhere—my inner folds, teasing along my opening, and goddess, my clit.

I gasp as Memnon sucks on it now, his teeth grazing against it. Whatever work my legs were doing to prop me up, they give out now.