C23 Taste

I had been too proud to mind Cato’s threat, until his mouth had taken me to the peak of calamity. Until I was clutching at his hair and crying out into the palm that clasped my mouth. And even then, after he’d tasted me, after I’d come until I was trembling, Cato did not stop touching me. He laid beside me, his hands on the back of my thighs, his mouth against my neck, his firm