Refined, was the average chef's palate. Trained carefully and over a lifetime to be able to properly taste the meals they prepared. Killer liked to think his was better than most.
...of course, the way you tasted on his tongue was unlike any fine meal he'd ever been served.
And despite the way you writhe, hands pulling at his long blonde locks, he doesn't slow or pause the way he delves deep. He never seems to keep one rhythm for too long, alternating between long and slow licks against your slit and quick dives into your depths, rubbing your inner walls with reckless abandon.
Better than a 5-star restaurant. Better than his own signature dish. Divine.
You would normally describe him as doting, giving you what you asked for if he could provide it, stopping when you said the word. He only wanted your pleasure. But when he went down on you, he turned selfish, you had realized. A discovery much too late, since you had no clue when he'd finally sate his desire for everything you could possibly give to him.
You were already 3 orgasms in, and he showed no signs of stopping. Your nerves were singing with overstimulation, his nose and mouth paying so much attention to them. With his eyes closed, he was truly in his own little world, enjoying your taste to his heart's content. In contrast to the erotic assault of his mouth on you, his hand lovingly caressed the side of your thigh, gentle and loving.
Overall, it would be a cute sight to appreciate if he didn't have you a shivering mess already.
You stutter out his name, tightening your grip in his hair, but as if he knows your protests are half-hearted, he doesn't pay them any mind, keeping you on a straight path to your fourth climax. Your lower back arches up in an effort to bring you that final bit needed to experience the wave of pleasure he's dangling.
Your legs close around his head, thigh squeezing him in as you feel the electric sparking of your impending high. Killer doesn't change his approach, only adjusting his shoulders so he could still have full access to your pussy even with the added press of your legs.
You wonder how he isn't suffocating by now, but that thought is flung away and replaced instead by abject heat clouding your mind. Your breath comes out in gasps, half-formed words that don't come out properly. Part of you thinks you should warn Killer that you were about to fall apart, but you're several moments too late.
With a strangled moan, you cum. Your thighs squeeze hard around his head. You're too far gone in euphoria to worry if you were hurting him, back arching off of the bed as he drinks up every drop you gush for him. Dear god, he just keeps going, tongue nimble and dependable.
Your vision blurs, and the tightness in your muscles slow, slowly, loosen back up. A sense of utter content follows it.
As if he senses that you've hit your limit, he eases you on your cunt. Your legs, now loose and shaking like jello, fall away from around his head to allow him to look at you.
He's out of breath alongside you, but the way he looks at you, gaze soft and satisfied, melts your heart. Neither of you say anything, not needing to. It's more than enough to come down together in the peace and quiet, hearts' rapid beating slowly returning to normal. Your head falls back down to the bed, eyes closing.
You hadn't felt this satisfied in a while...
Compliments to the chef.
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