He couldn't take much more of this manual torture. He needed the heat of her.
"Stop," he gasped, grabbing her wrist.
She froze, looking up at him with wide, questioning eyes.
"Use your mouth," he whispered.
She pulled back slightly, a flicker of disgust or perhaps just shock crossing her face. It was dirty. It was something animals did. But Sol's hand was in her hair, his fingers weaving through the strands, gently but firmly guiding her forward.
"Taste me," he breathed. "Try a sip." He encouraged.
She finally leaned in, her resistance crumbling under his will. She approached him as if he were a dangerous animal. She didn't open her mouth immediately. Instead, she extended her tongue, pink and wet, and licked the very tip.
The sensation jolted through her like a live wire. His knees almost buckled. She licked him like a cat lapping at cream…tentative, curious, rough yet soft.
"More," Sol growled, his hands tightening in her hair. "Everywhere."
