Chapter 20: The Taste of Devotion
Her other foot plants itself on my chest out of reflex, her toes splaying against my sternum. For some reason, the soft pressure of it, the blunt insistence of her sole against my skin, turns me on. A sharp, electric current shot straight down my spine to my groin. I groan, half-muffled by her toes. The sound vibrated against her skin.
The sound vibrated against her skin, and she froze, her toes pressing harder into my chest as if trying to decipher the hum through her sole.
“That… you groaned,” she whispered, her voice catching.
Her foot's pressure on my chest increases, a deliberate, searching press. I groan, my hands wrapping around her other ankle, the one in my mouth. Spit drips from my lips, stringing between my chin and her wet skin as I pull away just enough to speak, the taste of her still on my tongue. “Feels good,” I mumbled, the words thick and stupid.
“What does?” Her voice was pure, distilled curiosity now, sharp and focused.She watched my face, her toes still pressed over my heartbeat. “Getting my feet sucked?That’s weird, Hardik.”
“No. The sound.” I cleared my throat, my fingers tightening on her ankle.“The sound you made. That low… moan. It went right through me.”
Her foot slid down my chest, slowly, leaving a hot, wet trail. The water rippled as her sole moved over my stomach, the friction a soft, gliding resistance. “This is so fucking stupid,” she breathed, but she didn’t stop.Her toes brushed through the coarse hair, a light, tickling scrape.
Then her toes found me, fully hard again, bobbing against her arch.
She paused, her whole body going still except for the quick, shallow rise of her chest.The petal on her breast trembled. “Oh.” A single syllable, filled with dawning, wicked understanding.
“See?” I said, my voice strained.
Her toes closed around me, not gripping, just cupping, the soft pads of her toes a brand-new, impossible kind of softness. My hips jerked, an involuntary little thrust into that warm, flexible cradle.A low hiss escaped me.
“You are so fucking easy,” she whispered, but there was awe in it. She flexed her foot, rolling my shaft gently under her arch.
The sensation was alien and incredible, the knobs of her toes, the smooth sole, the careful, curious pressure.
Water sloshed over the side of the tub with a heavy glug. I sucked on her toe again, my tongue working against the delicate knuckle, losing myself in the taste of soap and her.
Her foot had slipped out of my mouth but I was holding it close, my fingers tight around her ankle. She pushed her foot towards my mouth slightly, reaching for contact with a tentative, searching press.
I laughed, a wet, breathy sound against her skin. “You just said I was a pervert for this.”
“I did,” she whispered, her voice hushed. She blushed, the color rising from her chest up to her throat, visible even in the candlelight.
Then an assertive feeling rose inside her, sharp and sudden, cutting through her bashfulness. Her eyes locked onto mine, and the playful curiosity hardened into something hungry, a possession that tightened the air between us.
“You like my feet?” she asked, her voice dropping to a throaty murmur that wasn’t a question at all.
It was a claim.
Before I could process the movement, she shifted her body in the tub, turning slightly. The water heaved, sloshing over the rim with a cold splash against the tiles. Petals swirled in the sudden vortex, sticking to her thighs.
She didn’t guide her foot back to my mouth. She planted it.
Her leg rose, water sluicing off her pale skin, and she brought her foot down onto my face, not gently, but with a deliberate, covering pressure. The sole of her foot settled over my mouth and nose, her toes curling against my forehead, her arch smothering me. The world narrowed to the taste of clean skin, the faint grit of bath salt, and the overwhelming, intimate scent of her.
My mind blanked. Pure sensation flooded in, hot and shocking. I couldn’t see her, only the dark of her skin against my eyelids, the pressure of her holding me there. A muffled sound escaped me, part groan, part surrender.
She held it there, her leg straight, her body taut. The water was still around us. I could hear her breathing, fast and shallow above the gentle lap of water.
“Breathe,” she commanded, her voice trembling with a power she was testing. The pressure on my face eased just enough for air. I drew a sharp breath through my nose, my lips pressed against the warm, damp sole of her foot. I opened my mouth and let my tongue trace a slow, wet line along her arch.
A violent shudder went through her leg.“Fuck,” she whispered, the word a reverent curse.
Her leg trembled against my face, the fine muscles in her calf tightening and releasing with a frantic rhythm. I licked again, a slow, devoted drag of my tongue from the ball of her foot to the damp cup of her heel. The sound was obscenely wet, a slick, intimate noise that echoed in the tiled room.
“You’re really—” Her sentence broke into a sharp gasp as I sucked two toes into my mouth, my tongue pressing between them. “—you’re really doing it.”
I could only answer with a hum, my world reduced to the taste of her skin and the desperate pressure building between my legs.
Her other foot pressed onto my cock. Not a tentative brush this time, but a deliberate, claiming weight. Her sole pressed down on me, pinning me to my stomach. She flexed her arch, rubbing slowly, experimentally. A ragged groan vibrated against the foot covering my mouth.
“Shh,” she breathed, her voice straining with the effort of holding her position. “I’m… I’m thinking.”
She moved her foot on my face, shifting the pressure so her heel settled over my mouth and her toes covered my eyes. Darkness. Her scent was everywhere. The foot on my cock stilled, a hot, motionless brand. I was blind, muffled, held completely at her mercy.
“You’re my favorite thing,” she whispered, more to herself than to me. Her foot on my face trembled. “My perfect, weird, horny thing.”
The foot on my dick began to move again, a slow, torturous grind of her sole along my length. Up, then down, the slickness of the water and the rough-soft texture of her skin creating a friction that was maddeningly indirect. My hips tried to thrust up, seeking more, but her weight was firm, controlling the pace, the pressure, everything.
I released her toes with a wet pop, my breath hot against her heel. “Pritha.”
“What?” Her voice was a feather-light taunt above me.
“Please.”
“Please what?” The grinding rhythm didn’t falter. Her foot on my face pressed down a little more, a gentle, smothering dominance.
I turned my head just enough to speak, my lips moving against her skin. “Please don’t stop. Please use me.”
A sharp, shuddering inhale from above. Her feet both stilled.
For a long, silent moment, the only sound was the drip… drip… from the tap and our mingled, ragged breathing.
Then her feet retreated.
They slid from my face and my cock, leaving cold, empty spaces on my skin. Water rippled away from her sudden movement. I blinked, vision returning, the candlelight a blur of gold.
She was shifting, her body a pale arc in the water. One hand gripped the rim of the tub for balance, the tendons in her forearm standing out. With a soft, determined grunt, she hooked her right knee over the side of the tub, the outside of her calf pressing against the cool porcelain.
Her other leg remained bent, foot planted on the bottom, but she let it fall open. The movement was deliberate, slow, and utterly exposing.
She was spread open before me, her lower body still submerged in the clouded, petal-strewn water. The shadows and candlelight played across the generous curve of her hips, the delicate line of her thigh vanishing into the rippling surface.
I could see the vague, dark triangle of her curls beneath the water, distorted and mysterious. My body moved without thought, a magnetized pull drawing me forward through the petal-strewn water. My hands found her hips, my thumbs pressing into the soft give of her inner thighs, anchoring myself to her reality.
“Down boy,” she growled, the words guttural and low, nothing cute about them.
She was clearly taking control. Using me. The authority in her voice, so rarely used, sent a jolt of pure submission straight through my core. My lungs felt tight. My cock throbbed, a dull, insistent ache ignored against the porcelain.
I shifted closer to her, the water shifting in a heavy wave.
My face was level with her open thighs, the steam and shadow playing over her skin. The petal-strewn surface hid the final details, a veil over what I desperately wanted to see. I looked up her body, past the gentle swell of her stomach, the trembling petals on her ribs, to meet her eyes. Her glasses were slightly fogged, her curls damp and wild, her expression a mix of fierce hunger and nervous pride.
“Well?” she breathed, her voice cracking. “You said… use you.”
I didn’t answer with words. I took a deep, settling breath, filling my lungs. The warm, lavender-scented air mixed with the intimate salt of her skin. I held her gaze for one more second, committing the sight of her like this to memory—open, demanding, hers.
Then I lowered my face beneath the water.
The world muted into a soft, roaring silence. Light danced in refracted amber waves above me. Petals swirled against my cheeks, my closed eyelids. I pushed forward, my hands sliding from her hips to the backs of her thighs, anchoring her, opening her further to the warm, liquid dark.
My mouth found her.
The first touch was electric, even through the water. Soft folds, heat that cut through the bath’s warmth, a taste that was purely her, concentrated and essential. I pressed my lips to her, a kiss delivered through a medium of shared water, and felt her whole body jolt. A muffled, watery cry echoed from above, vibrations transmitted through her thighs into my hands.
I worked. My tongue traced the shape of her, learning the landscape anew in this silent, weightless world. The water offered resistance, a fluid pressure I had to push against. I sealed my mouth over her, sucking gently, and the sensation was different—softer, slower, a deep, building pulse.
My lungs began to signal their need, a familiar burn. I ignored it. My focus was the rhythmic tightening of her muscles under my palms, the way her thighs tried to close around my head, the frantic, wordless messages her body was sending.
I knew I could do this, I was a good swimmer. This wouldn't be easy, but it was doable.
I redoubled my efforts, my tongue finding a specific, insistent rhythm against that one perfect spot. My nose pressed into her, breathing in her essence through the water. The sounds were unreal, a deep, gurgling resonance in my ears, her moans from above filtering down as distorted, beautiful echoes.
The burn in my lungs became a white-hot scream. I broke the surface with a ragged, gasping inhale that tore at my throat. Water sluiced from my hair, blurring my vision. Air had never tasted so sharp, so necessary.
I didn't spend any time more than necessary outside.
I plunged back under with a desperate, focused drive, the water closing over my head in a rush of muted sound. My mouth found her again, my hands gripping the backs of her thighs to keep her steady against the tub’s edge. Her flesh was hot, even through the bath’s warmth.
Her legs spasmed around my head, her heels digging into my shoulder blades. A series of sharp, liquid cries filtered down, each one a vibration I felt in my teeth, in my skull. My lungs were already burning, a tight, acidic fist clenching behind my ribs.
I pushed the pain aside, focusing everything on the slick, swollen feel of her under my tongue. I pressed flat and firm, circling that specific point with a rhythm I knew she couldn’t withstand. The water resisted, then gave way, creating a strange, fluid suction.
My vision began to sparkle at the edges, a warning in the dark amber gloom. I didn’t care. I sucked, gently at first, then harder, drawing her essence into the water, into me. Her thighs clamped like a vise, her body bowing upward in a rigid arc I could feel through the water.
Just as the white noise in my ears threatened to drown out everything, her climax hit.
It was a series of violent, rhythmic pulses against my mouth, a fluttery, desperate clenching I could taste through the water. A thick, muffled scream shattered the surface above me, followed by a frantic, slapping sound as her hand hit the water over and over.
Splash. Slap. Splash.
I held on, my own need for air a distant, unimportant thing. I drank her in until the tremors subsided into faint, aftershock shivers. Only then did I let my body surge upward, breaking the surface with a ragged, roaring gasp that scraped my throat raw.
I slumped forward, my forehead coming to rest against the damp skin of her inner thigh. I coughed, water dripping from my nose, my chest heaving. The air was thick with steam and her scent.
“Oh,” she was saying, the word a broken, wet little sob. “Oh, god. Oh.”
Her hands found my head, her fingers tangling in my wet hair. They weren’t gentle. They pulled, guiding my face up from her thigh until I was looking at her.
Her eyes were unfocused, black pupils swallowing the warm brown. Tears tracks mixed with bathwater on her cheeks. Her mouth was open, lips swollen and perfect.
“You bastard,” she breathed, her voice shredded. “You stayed under. You… you drowned for me.”
I tried to speak, but only a rough croak came out. I nodded, my cheek rubbing against her thigh.
A laugh escaped her, half-hysterical, half-reverent. Her grip in my hair tightened.
“My crazy, beautiful bastard.”
Her whisper frayed at the edges, soaked in awe and the aftershocks still trembling through her. Her hands in my hair softened from a pull to a cradle, fingertips pressing against my scalp. I was still heaving, water dripping from my chin onto her thigh with soft, steady taps.
“Can’t breathe,” I rasped, the words scraping out.
“I know.” She shifted beneath me, her body moving through the petal-strewn water with a gentle slosh. “Come here. Up.”
She guided me, her hands firm on my shoulders. My limbs felt loose and heavy, uncoordinated. I hauled myself up, water cascading from my body in noisy streams, and slumped backward, expecting the hard porcelain.
Instead, I met the warm, yielding pillow of her. She had shifted to sit fully in the water, her back now against the side of the tub. She pulled me back against her, my spine aligning with the soft valley between her breasts, my head coming to rest just below her collarbone. My back pressed flush against the damp skin of her stomach and chest.
“Here,” she murmured into my wet hair.
I let my head fall back against her, my eyes closed. The water lapped at our chins. Her heartbeat thudded against my shoulder blade, a rapid, steady percussion slowly settling into a calmer rhythm.
Her heartbeat thudded against my shoulder blade, a rapid, steady percussion slowly settling into a calmer rhythm. I let my weight sink fully against her, boneless, my lungs still burning sweetly from the lack of air. The water held us, a warm, silent weight.
“You okay?” she whispered, her lips moving against the top of my head.
I managed a grunt, lifting one heavy hand to rest on her thigh beneath the water. My fingers traced idle patterns on her skin. “Never better.”
“Liar.” She kissed my hair. “You sound wrecked.”
“I am wrecked. You wrecked me.” I tilted my head back to see her face. The candlelight caught the tear tracks, the swollen pink of her lips. “Worth it.”
She smiled, a slow, satiated thing that crinkled the corners of her eyes. Her fingers combed through my wet hair, scratching my scalp gently. We stayed like that, breathing together, the only sounds the soft lap of water and the distant drip… drip… from the tap. The petals formed a ragged scarlet ring around our bodies.
My eyes were closed, as I gathered my breath, my chest rising and falling against her. The heat of the water, the solid comfort of her body behind me, lulled me into a hazy, spent peace. I felt her shift slightly, the movement subtle.
She looks at the candle beside her, her eyes golden and focused on the flame. The reflection of it danced, a tiny, perfect duplication in each lens of her glasses. An idea, downright sadistic, forms in her mind. I felt the change in her breathing, a slight hitch, a new tension in the muscles of her stomach against my back.
She picks up the candle. The white ceramic was warm from the flame. She held it in her hand, considering, her gaze flicking from the flame to my chest, to my face. Her expression was unreadable, a quiet fascination bordering on cruelty. Then she titled it, just slightly, and one liquid drop fell.