NOVEL NEXT Chapter 149: Teacher's P*ssy (R-18)
I pressed my lips to the inside of her thigh—slow, claiming kisses that left faint trails of heat and dampness in my wake. Her skin was satin-soft under my mouth, tasting faintly of the warm, clean scent of her body mixed with the faintest edge of anticipation. My hand moved with the kind of patience that makes a person ache, sliding the lace aside inch by inch until it gave way completely revealing to me the wet pussy of her's.
My teacher's pussy looked swollen, greedy—like it knew exactly what it wanted and wouldn't be satisfied with anything less. The slick shine coating her folds caught the light, turning her wetness into something that felt almost decadent, like icing dripping down something forbidden.
The scent of her arousal and love juice hit me next—heady, intoxicating—a mix of her arousal and that raw, sweet tang of her need. It wasn't just a smell. It was a pull, a hook sinking deep into me.
The cool air slipped in first onto pussy, brushing over her like a teasing stranger. I followed, lowering myself between her thighs until my mouth hovered just above her—close enough that she could feel the heat of my breath sliding over her skin, each exhale a promise, but still not close enough to give her what she wanted.
The space between us was torture—one slow, aching heartbeat where she could feel me without having me.
I didn't give her a warning. One second my breath was teasing her, the next my tongue dragged up the length of her, slow enough that she could feel every deliberate inch of it.
The first taste hit me like a jolt—sweet and warm, with that dizzying, addictive tang that made me want to bury myself in her until I forgot how to come up for air.
Her whole body reacted—hips jerking forward, thighs tightening around my head, a sharp gasp ripping from her throat before it melted into a sound that was nothing but need. I flattened my tongue and slid over her again, slower this time, pressing in just enough to make her whimper.
God, she was trembling already. And I wasn't even close to done with her.
When she gasped—sharp and sudden, her hands flying to cover her mouth like she'd just realized exactly how exposed she was—I only smiled against her skin.
My arms slid under her thighs, pulling her forward until the edge of the table bit faintly into her hips. The movement made her legs open just a fraction more, and that fraction was all mine.
I still didn't rush. Still didn't give in to the temptation clawing at me. Instead, I let the moment breathe, letting her sit in the weight of what I was about to do to her.
My eyes held hers—steady, unblinking—as I brushed my lips just barely over her, a whisper of contact that sent a visible shiver shooting up her spine. Her back arched. Her breath hitched. Her body twitched like she'd been touched by lightning.
And then… I pulled back.
"Peter," she whimpered, voice breaking in that way that sounded halfway between plea and surrender.
I kissed the top of her thigh again, slower this time, deep enough that she could feel it in her bones.
"Not yet," I murmured, my voice low and rough. "I want every nerve in your body screaming for me. When I finally take you… you're gonna remember it every single time you sit at this table."
Her eyelids fluttered, lashes trembling against her cheeks. Her chest rose and fell too quickly, her thighs trembling where they rested on my shoulders.
"You're already ruining me," she breathed, and God, the way her voice cracked on that word made my blood run hotter.
"Good." My lips curved into a smile that she couldn't see but could feel in the way my breath ghosted over her. I didn't warn her again. Didn't need to.
Her hips gave her away—rolling subtly toward me, her thighs flexing as if they couldn't decide whether to pull me in or push me away. Her lips parted like a prayer was trapped between them.
I lowered my mouth to her, I did it slowly, sealing her fate one deliberate inch at a time. Her gasp hit me like a punch to the chest—sharp, unguarded, desperate.
My tongue slid over her, slow and deliberate, parting her softness and tasting the molten heat waiting for me. She was sweet, slick—pure sin dressed up in silk skin—and the flavor hit me so hard my fingers dug into her thighs, holding her exactly where I wanted her.
She arched so hard her chair creaked, fingers scrambling for the edge of the table like she was afraid she'd float away if she didn't anchor herself.
"Oh my god… Peter," she whispered, her voice fracturing into something raw.
I didn't answer. Words were useless now. I pressed in deeper, letting the tip of my tongue flick against her before flattening it and dragging upward, savoring every drop of her.
My lips closed around her with slow, greedy precision—like she was the only thing I'd ever hunger for—and I drank her in as if I could keep her taste on my tongue forever.
I took my time, drawing out long, deliberate licks that made her thighs quiver against my shoulders, breaking the rhythm only to give her slow, steady sucks that pulled moans from her throat like I was teasing the strings of an instrument I knew by heart.
She tasted like sin. Like a secret I'd take to the grave just so no one else could have it.
Her hand found my hair, fingers curling tight like she was afraid I'd slip away. I let her guide me—let her think she was in control—right up until she realized I wasn't stopping. I wasn't pulling back. I was only sinking further into her, mouth moving with a hunger that had no end.
I slid one arm fully under her thigh, lifting it until her leg rested high over my shoulder, opening her completely to me. My other hand traveled up her stomach in a slow, claiming path, brushing under the fabric of her dress until my palm cupped the soft weight of her breast. I felt her heartbeat there, frantic against my hand.
She was panting now—short, sharp gasps—her body twitching with every flick of my tongue. My name slipped from her lips like it was the only word she remembered how to say, each syllable breaking into something rawer, needier.
And then she shattered. Her back arched off the table, hips pressing hard into my mouth, a sound tearing out of her that was part sob, part moan, all unfiltered release.
She came with my name on her lips—shaky, beautiful, real.
But I wasn't finished.
Even as her body trembled, I rose over her, my chest brushing the rapid rise and fall of hers. My mouth found hers again—no teasing this time—just a hard, hungry kiss that stole whatever breath she had left. I tasted her moans, tasted her, letting her feel exactly what she'd done to me.
"I can't wait," she breathed against my lips, arms winding around my neck. "Please, Peter—don't make me wait."
I didn't.
I undid my belt with one hand, never looking away from her, never giving her even a heartbeat to forget who was in control.
My hands gripped her thighs again, dragging her forward until her hips balanced on the very edge of the table. I wrapped my hand around the thick base of my cock, feeling the heat and weight of it pulse against my palm.
Hard, heavy, every vein standing out like it was straining for her. I dragged the head slowly over her slick folds, smearing myself with her wetness—marking her as mine before I even pushed inside.
Each pass made her hips twitch, her breath hitch, her need soaking me until I was coated in her.
I pushed in—slow, controlled—feeling her stretch around me. The first inch was a tight, burning welcome, her walls clinging to me like they didn't want to let go. I sank deeper, each slow thrust forward pulling a shaky breath from her chest, her fingers curling hard into the edge of the table.
By the time I was buried to the hilt, her head had fallen back, lips parted, a sound slipping out that was half moan, half surrender. Her body trembled around me, adjusting to every inch I'd given her, her heat wrapping me in something so deep it made my grip on her thighs tighten.