Chapter 681: Bruised Kisses (r-18) A/N: Enjoy this please... She shivered, a full-body ripple that started at her shoulders and cascaded down to her toes, her breath catching in a sharp, audible gasp that tasted of bourbon and jasmine when it mingled with mine. "Oh... God," she murmured, the words barely a breath, trembling on the edge of another moan. I rose from the bench in one fluid motion, towering over her where she still straddled the wood, her lace-clad body glowing under the single lamp’s honeyed spill and the moon’s cold silver pouring through the wall of glass. Her eyes, those arctic-blue shards, locked onto mine, pupils blown wide, lips parted and glistening with saliva that caught the light like liquid crystal. I cupped her face with both hands, thumbs brushing the razor edge of her cheekbones, fingers sliding into the thick tumble of blonde hair that smelled of coconut oil warmed by sun and skin and the faint metallic tang of sweat. I leaned in, slow enough for her to feel the heat of my breath on her mouth, and kissed her. It began soft, almost reverent, lips brushing in a tease that made her chase me, her head tilting to deepen the contact. "Mmm," she hummed, a low, needy sound that vibrated against my lips. Then I opened her with my tongue, sliding against hers in a slow, filthy glide that tasted of salt and sweetness and the raw edge of her need. She moaned into my mouth, the sound vibrating through my chest, low and wet and desperate—"Fuck, yes." Her nails scraped my scalp as she pulled me closer, tongue battling mine with a hunger that made my cock throb painfully against the confines of my jeans. We moved without breaking the kiss, a tangled, stumbling dance of mouths and hands. I lifted her effortlessly, hands sliding under her thighs to grip the bruised flesh there, feeling the heat and the tremor of her muscles as she wrapped her legs around my waist, ankles locking at the small of my back, heels digging into the ridges of my spine. "Harder," she gasped against my lips, her voice breaking on the word. The piano bench clattered backward and crashed against the wall with a splintering thud that echoed through the room, but the sound was swallowed by the wet, obscene noises of our kissing, tongues sliding, teeth grazing, lips sucking until they were swollen and raw. I spun her slowly, turning her in my arms until her back pressed against my chest, her ass grinding instinctively against the rigid line of my cock. The lace of her thong was soaked through, the heat of her cunt radiating through the thin barrier and into my jeans, a slick, slippery promise that made my vision blur at the edges. I kissed the column of her neck, open-mouthed and greedy, sucking hard enough to leave fresh bruises over the old ones, tongue tracing the frantic pulse that hammered beneath her skin. "Yes—right there," she moaned, arching her head back, hair cascading down my arm in a golden waterfall that tickled my skin and smelled of sun and sex, her hands reaching behind to fist my hair and pull me closer, guiding my mouth to the spots that made her gasp and grind harder. "Don’t stop... please..." Her moans were filthy, unrestrained, echoing off the glass wall and bouncing back to us in waves that synced with the muffled bass from downstairs. "Oh fuck, Eros," she cried, the name tearing from her throat as she rolled her hips in slow, deliberate circles, driving the soaked lace of her thong against my cock, the friction hot and maddening, the wet sounds of fabric on denim filling the room like a second melody. I growled against her throat—"You’re killing me, Lila"—the vibration rumbling through her body, and slid my hands up to cup her breasts, squeezing the heavy weight through the lace, thumbs circling her nipples until they ached and peaked, hard and dark and begging for my mouth. "Touch me... everywhere," she begged, her voice cracking into a whimper as another moan spilled free. We stumbled forward, still kissing, still grinding, until her front pressed against the cool mirror of the ballet barre. The shock of cold glass against her heated skin made her gasp into my mouth, the sound sharp and sweet—"Cold!"—fog blooming on the surface where her breath hit and her palms slammed flat with a sharp slap. I kissed down her spine, tongue tracing every vertebra, tasting the salt of her sweat and the faint trace of jasmine that clung to her like a second skin. She pushed back against me, ass grinding harder, the lace dragging over my cock in a rhythm that made my balls ache and my vision tunnel. "More... give me more," she pleaded, her voice a broken sob of need as the mirror creaked under the pressure of her hands. I turned her again, lifting her onto the velvet chaise, laying her back among the crushed pillows that smelled of her solitude and her secrets. A lamp teetered on the side table and crashed to the floor with a shattering of glass and a dull thud, the bulb flickering out in a burst of sparks, but we didn’t stop. I kissed her eyelids, her cheekbones, the faint scar through her brow, the corner of her mouth, every inch of her face as if memorizing it with my lips. "You taste like heaven," I murmured against her skin, and she answered with a desperate "Kiss me—don’t ever stop." She writhed beneath me, legs wrapping my waist, pulling me down until our bodies pressed flush, her pussy grinding against my cock through the layers of fabric, the heat and wetness soaking through until I could feel every pulse of her need. "I need you to fuck me, take me Eros," she gasped, the words fracturing into another moan as her hips bucked. We rolled to the window, her back against the glass, moonlight bathing her in silver that made her bruises glow like constellations and her skin shimmer like liquid metal. The glass rattled in its frame as I pressed her harder, kissing her shoulders, her collarbone, sucking bruises into the soft skin above her breasts, tongue tracing the edge of the lace bra until it slipped lower and her nipples spilled free, dark and hard and glistening with sweat. "Bite me," she demanded, voice raw, and when I did—teeth grazing, tongue soothing—she screamed, "Yes! Fuck, yes!" Her palms slammed the glass again, fog spreading under her hands in frantic bursts, ass pushing back to grind against me, the wet lace dragging over my cock in slow, torturous strokes that made my breath hitch and my hands tremble. "I’m so wet for you, ready for you" she confessed in a broken whisper, the words dissolving into a string of moans. Finally, we sank to the carpet, a slow, deliberate collapse of limbs and mouths and heat. A trophy toppled from a shelf and clattered to the floor, rolling with a metallic ring, but the sound was lost in the symphony of our passion. I rolled her on top of me, her hair cascading down like a curtain that blocked out the world, her tits bouncing with every grind of her hips, the lace bra hanging loose and useless now. She kissed me hungrily, tongue fucking my mouth, teeth clashing, lips sucking until they bled, her pussy grinding against my cock in a rhythm that matched the frantic beat of our hearts. "I could do this forever, you taste so godly" she panted between kisses, and I answered with a growled. "Then don’t stop." The carpet was thick and warm beneath my back, swallowing the sounds of our moans and the wet slap of lace on denim, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and sweat and the raw, electric edge of want. We kissed until our lips were swollen and raw, until her thighs trembled and her pussy dripped through the lace, until my cock throbbed and leaked and ached, until the moon itself seemed to hold its breath. She collapsed onto my chest, panting, sweat-slick, hair sticking to my skin in damp golden strands. Her lips brushed my jaw in soft, reverent kisses, her voice a wrecked whisper against my ear: "Again." I smiled into her hair, tasting salt and jasmine and her.