Diana must have felt my gaze because her blush deepened, her shoulders tensing as if she were bracing for my judgment.
"I… I didn't have the time to shave them…" she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes darting away in shame. She was ashamed—ashamed to show me this part of herself, this dirty side she thought I might not want.
But she was wrong.
I didn't hesitate. I lifted her arm, bringing her armpit to my lips, and inhaled deeply.
The scent was her—musky, warm, alive. Not the artificial cleanliness of soap and razors, but the real Diana, the one beneath the polished exterior. "It's not smelly," I murmured, my breath hot against her skin. "It even has your sweet scent."
And then I licked her.
A slow, deliberate stroke of my tongue against the soft, sensitive skin of her armpit. Diana's entire body shuddered, a broken, needy moan tearing from her throat.
