Thankfully, I had on a spaghetti-strap dress. The dress sagged against my body as Ares hungrily swallowed my boobs, stretching his mouth wide and taking in the flesh, sucking, before retreating, playing with my nipples, his tongue swiping back and forth.
He repeated his action until he was satisfied and went over the other, but satisfaction was out of question because he kept going between them, his craving intensifying.
All I did was moan, my hand shooting out to hold the armrest for more support, touching the glass of vodka, and it tumbled over to the floor.
I leaned backwards as the force of Ares' engagement kept me out of balance, my eyes meeting the ceiling.
Ares moved, standing, and I held tightly because that didn't stop him. I reckoned I was gonna be sore when he was done with me, because this wasn't lust or desire, those names were too little to describe what was happening right now.
