GIO
As her breathing gradually steadied, I withdrew and placed a tender kiss on her knee before straightening up. Millie’s lust-laden gaze met mine, sending a surge of electricity through me. Her voice, laced with desire, broke the silence. “Shed that dress, my princess. Let me feast my eyes on your flawless form.”
She rose gracefully, the dress falling away, leaving her bare and vulnerable. It was baffling what imperfections she believed she had; in my eyes, she was a masterpiece.
I encircled her waist, pulling her close enough to taste her nipples before relinquishing my hold to rid myself of clothing. Her hand reached for my erection, but I shook my head, the urgency to be inside her driving my desires. “I want to be inside you, Millie. Kneel on the couch.”
There was a moment of hesitation, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, before compliance settled in.
I arranged Millie on all fours before me, a position we hadn’t explored yet. The sight of her from this angle was breathtaking, her curves and contours captivating my attention.
However, as I positioned myself, I sensed a sudden tension coursing through her body. Her muscles clenched around me, a clear indication of her discomfort. Frowning, I stroked her back, concerned about her sudden change in demeanor. It was clear that she couldn’t proceed in this state; it would only cause her pain. Gritting my teeth, I called her name, my own frustration mounting as her shoulders slumped, and her breathing became uneven. Was she crying?
Unable to bear it, I lifted her in my arms, turning her to face me. Her eyes met mine, revealing a turmoil of emotions. She wasn’t shedding tears, but her expression told a story of inner turmoil. In a quiet voice, she spoke, her words like fragile glass. “I’m sorry… Can we try a different position?”
The knot in my stomach tightened. The realization of what was causing her distress hit me hard. Memories of a painful moment resurfaced the day she had seen me with Alyssa. It was like a punch to the gut. Leaning down, I lifted her chin, forcing her gaze to meet mine. Vulnerability shone in her eyes, a stark contrast to the strength she usually projected. My voice, gentle yet firm, tried to dispel the doubt that had taken root. “Millie, I’ve told you before, she’s a part of history now. There’s no one else for me but you.”
A conflicted emotion flickered through her eyes. “I know that, but… I can’t seem to forget.”
Regret and remorse flooded me. In that moment, I felt like the lowest of the low. I held her close, letting my touch convey the sincerity of my words. “Millie, I understand your pain. But let me show you, in every way possible, that you’re the only one who matters. The past can’t define us unless we let it. Let’s create a new memory, one that will overshadow everything else.”
Uncertain of how to address the pain in her eyes, my actions were guided by an instinctive tenderness. Leaning in, I pressed my lips to hers in a comforting kiss, a silent promise of solace. Pulling away slightly, my breath ghosted over her ear as I softly suggested, “Shall we step inside? Our bed beckons, where I can pour my love into you.” A fleeting hesitation danced in her eyes, but with a gentle brush of my fingers against her cheek, I drew her closer. Our faces mere inches apart, I spoke with an earnestness, “Millie, you remain the sole woman I have ever loved this way.” The realization that my warriors might perceive this as a weakness gnawed at me, yet in that moment, I held no regrets for baring my emotions. The softened expression on Millie’s face was worth the potential loss of respect from my soldiers.
And so, she acquiesced, allowing me to guide her down to the lower deck, our shared sanctuary. Together, we entered our chamber, a realm of intimacy woven with our unspoken promises. An air of stillness enveloped her as she settled onto the bed, her emotions veiled like a delicate secret. With a gentle touch, I coaxed her to lie on her back, and my fingertips traced the contours of her womanhood. A subtle shift in her demeanor was evident; the earlier fervor seemed muted. Her eyelids concealed her thoughts, whether due to her reflection in the mirror or a desire to shield herself from vulnerability. Lying down beside her, my fingers continued their dance, stroking her cheek as her eyes fluttered open. The anguish that had clouded her gaze had dissipated, replaced by a newfound shyness-an aspect perhaps attributed to the mirror’s presence. This detail was not lost on me, and I resolved to navigate her apprehensions.
A nod directed her attention to the mirror above, an unspoken invitation to observe herself through my eyes. In the mirror’s embrace, her form appeared fragile, a delicate masterpiece set against the canvas of my scars and sinew. Her focus lingered on a faint scar adorning her shoulder, a seemingly insignificant mark that held disproportionate weight in her perception. A typical reaction from Millie, ever attuned to the minutest imperfections. I recognized this tendency, this tendency to magnify perceived flaws that I saw as testament to her love. Determined to shift her thoughts, my hands ventured purposefully, cupping the fullness of her breast. Teasingly, I caught her nipple between forefinger and middle finger, eliciting a sensual friction that set her nerves alight. Millie’s gaze dipped, a reaction I wasn’t about to allow.
“Look at me, my princess,” I implored, a hint of command imbued within the endearment. Her eyes ascended, and from that moment, they remained tethered to the mirror’s reflection. Anticipation painted her breaths as my caresses charted a lower course. The vista of her womanhood unveiled itself beneath my attentive touch, its intricate folds cradling secrets of pleasure. Gently parting her silken petals with thumb and finger, I unveiled her delicate pearl, its allure glistening with a hint of desire. As my ministrations assumed their rhythm-circles drawn with knowing intent-a rhythm reminiscent of bygone symphonies of pleasure-Millie’s eyes did not waver from the reflective tableau.
“Spread your legs,” my words bore a trace of authority, met willingly by her compliance. The apex of her intimacy was mine to explore, a terrain I navigated with reverence. With my thumb and forefinger, I uncovered her most sensitive essence, each delicate stroke kindling the flame within her. Her hips, a canvas of graceful curves, arched to the cadence of arousal, a dance of vulnerability and longing. I relinquished the embrace of her core, a hiatus that spurred her lips apart, her pelvis a silent plea for continuation.
Retreating momentarily, I positioned myself between her thighs, a sentinel to her desire. Drawing her hips nearer, I expanded the canvas of her offering, her body a living testament to vulnerability and longing. In the mirror’s reflection, I witnessed the convergence of emotions-the need, the intrigue, the surrender. “Observe, love, as my ardor claims your sanctum,” my voice, a whisper laden with promise, reverberated in the room. With exquisite precision, I presented my ardor at her threshold, a fleeting press against her entrance. As I breached her, her supple walls yielded to my advance, the tableau of our unity a tapestry woven from devotion and rapture. Deep within her warmth, my gaze met hers in the mirror, a silent communion of shared ecstasy. The sight of her enveloping me, her being open and intimate, tightened the coil of my yearning.
Holding her hips, I orchestrated our dance of union-a measured, unhurried tempo, driven by both passion and restraint. The tempestuous emotions from the sundeck weighed upon my intentions; while a part of me craved a more fervent rhythm, my reverence for her recent ordeal restrained my desires. Millie’s responses guided my movements, her fervor a whispered plea for both connection and gentleness.