Delgano: A Dark Contemporary Interracial Romance

The moment she felt his lips, she opened up, and he explored her mouth with his tongue, holding her in place underneath him. Their bodies touched, and if he felt this good wearing shorts, him inside her had to feel like paradise.

In the beginning, she was aware that it might feel like death, but all her books had assured her that it would get better. Then, after better, it would feel like something she might become hooked on if it was done correctly—whatever that meant.

“Wait.” She pushed on his chest. “I have an idea.”

She slid from underneath him, hopped off the bed, and went to a dresser. Using the flashlight from her phone, she found the darkest scarves she owned, asked him to step outside for a minute, and then wrapped them around her head and face until only her eyes showed.

Afterward, she turned on a lamp, stripped out of the rest of her clothes, perched on her knees in the middle of the bed, and told him he could come back in.

The door opened, his eyes found her on the mattress, and she heard when he inhaled.

Keeping in mind the issues he’d had with sex before, she fully intended to take her time. This wasn’t solely about her. The bulge in his shorts was more than intimidating, but with the way she pulsed, her body felt wet enough to get through the experience without allowing discomfort to stop them.

Without looking away, he removed his clothes.

Her eyes fell.

And there was no way it could be normal to desire to perform oral sex on a man. It had to be the idea of him touching her or the sounds he made while she pleasured him that had her mouth filling with moisture. The act was completely one-sided, yet her nipples firmed even tighter, and she felt another rush of wetness at the mere sight of him.

He joined her on the bed.

She traced his length from tip to base.

“And if I disappoint you?” he asked.

She looked up into his eyes, slowly stroking. “You won’t. You can’t.”

“Querida,” he tapped her lips, “I can’t kiss you like this.”

“Actually, I thought of that.” She showed him that she could separate a portion of the two fabrics for any activity that required her mouth and throat.

“Now, all I need is your nose,” he kissed the tip of the bulb, “your ears,” he kissed her earlobe, “and your hair.” He kissed the top of her head. “My portrait of you would then be complete.”

She squeezed.

“For now,” he groaned, eyes closing, “I’m good with these.”

He tugged on her legs.

She landed on her back, bouncing once, and the second the warmth of his mouth enveloped her nipple and areola, she shuddered.

“You’re so sensitive here,” his hand meandered between her legs, “that I’m curious what will happen if I do both.”

While he sucked, he stroked her clit.

When he moved to the other breast, the sensation hit her like a bolt of lightning, and the tension between her legs grew. She gyrated against his hand, sighing as the sound of his fingers moving carried through the darkness.

“Sayeda, I’m wondering if I can ever quit you.” He blew on her nipple. “I don’t know that the answer is yes.”

“I don’t want you to,” she said, leg shaking.

“You want me to stay?”

“Yes.”

“And if I have to,” he licked the tip of her nipple with the very tip of his tongue, “leave? You are okay if I come back?”

She nodded. “Yes.”