Chapter 55: The Ritual of Thigh and Tongue, or: How to Worship a Warrior
Deja vu wrapped around us like a scented fog—familiar, thick, and charged with something primal. After our initial kiss, I descended down Kimchi's sculpted form like a pilgrim at the altar, my mouth offering reverence in the only language it knew: pressure, warmth, and devotion.
Soft gasps escaped her lips, each one a note in a crescendo of sighs. When I reached the sacred juncture between her thighs, I worshipped it like the shrine it was—lips meeting her rosebud with rhythm, tongue tracing her folds like calligraphy across vellum flesh. She moaned, once, twice, and then lost count.
Kimchi wanted to skip ahead. She wanted to feel her mate inside her—completing her, claiming her. But even through the tension of urgency, she couldn't deny the exquisite agony of patience. What my mouth did to her was nothing short of a liturgy of lust.
