Chapter 162 – Estela POV
Daphne's favorite pastime—aside from tormenting my chest until even the air feels obscene—is eating me like I'm her last meal.
Like I'm the only thing that's ever tasted right on her tongue.
And right now? She's starving.
My breath stutters as her shoulders press between my thighs, bare and warm, while her mouth moves like a slow prayer. I'm seated on the edge of the bed, knees parted, gripping the sheets like they can tether me to earth. They can't. Not really. Not when she touches me like this.
Her fingers press into my hips, firm and steady, as her tongue flicks against me, slow at first—teasing. Like she wants to savor my unraveling one layer at a time. I gasp, head tilting back, eyes fluttering shut. The ceiling above blurs into the dim, golden light of the room, but I remember its patterns, its grooves—I've memorized them from nights like this, where all I can do is look up and feel.
