Aragon's thighs trembled, his grip on her hair tightening as she set a rhythm—deep, devouring swallows that buried him to the hilt, her throat relaxing to accommodate his length.
Gwakgwakgwak…
Gagging sounds escaped her, wet and filthy, but she reveled in it, one hand slipping between her own thighs to rub circles over the damp fabric of her gown. Spit dribbled from the corners of her mouth, slicking her chin and dripping onto her chest to make her skin gleam in the firelight.
He watched, mesmerized, the way her lips stretched taut around him, the subtle flex of her jaw, and the flutter of her lashes as she glanced up, holding his gaze while she swallowed him whole.
The pressure built relentlessly, a tide rising in his gut, but Freja sensed it, easing off just enough to keep him teetering, denying the plunge.
"Not yet," she gasped, pulling free with a pop, strings of saliva connecting them like lewd threads. "I want you inside me first. All of you."
