Page 9 of Dirty Tricks

He told me how much he likes to see it moving in and out when we watched the first video together, me cringing, him critiquing my performance so I could do better next time.

At first, I worried he might show the videos to other people, but he swore he’d never do that. Marty from my economics class once said something that sounded like hemighthave seen one, but when I asked Finn, he laughed and said I’d misunderstood. It was all in my head.

The thought derails me. The buzzing near my clit does nothing.

Then my eyes close and my head fills with the boy from the cafeteria. The one I often catch in my peripheral vision, a reassuring presence even if today was the first time I really saw him. Sawintohim, almost. The jolt when our eyes locked was that intense.

My imagination fires and I replay the encounter.

The bump as my body backed into his, the steadying brace of his hand. The way he stopped my tray from falling when any other boy in the room would have let it tumble, would stand back and laugh at the mess while I fell to my knees to clear it up, embarrassed.

Those enormous hands. He easily cupped my elbow and half my upper arm in one smooth palm.

I pretend one presses against my lower back as I play with the toy, a thick finger making a swirling motion full of promise. I imagine those gold-flecked eyes trained to my pussy, watching with rigid intensity as I satisfy myself when what I’m really doing is trying to satisfy him.

Trying to make him come before he beats me with the monster cock that’s hardening between his legs.

But I’m nowhere close, not when I purposely twist the vibrator until it stops buzzing against the bit I like, edging myself while my mind purrs with satisfaction at the euphoric discovery of a new daydream. A safe place to play anytime I like.

Safe?

I don’t know where that word sprang from, but it fits. An aura surrounds him, suffusing me in its warm glow.

One of his giant hands cups me, his thick finger straining to reach between my legs, sliding along my inner folds before he lifts it to his mouth, sucking down my flavour like it’s a tantalising treat.

Except here, my imagination falls apart. He wore a mask and as my internal elves work hard to dig through my memories, to find a matching visage to complete the gorgeous portrait, they come up short.

Who gives a shit?

Not me. He could be a gorilla underneath the face covering, and I’d still find him raw and rugged and beautiful.

A strong, beating-chest gorilla who’ll pin me in place until I give him what he needs, what he demands. Until I give him my orgasm and when that doesn’t satisfy him—because how could it, such a tiny thing—he will force me into another and another, my legs shaking from exhaustion, my skin numb until I think his delving fingers can’t possibly wring one more.

“Give me another, angel,” he growls in a voice with more vibration than the toy between my legs.

A voice I can hear rumbling through my ear canal. Though he’s not real, he’s not speaking. My imagination is so entranced that I’m lost inside the movie playing out in my brain, more aroused than I’ve ever been, on fire in a way I never thought possible.

My dream man inhabits the boy from the cafeteria, turning him into flesh and bone, muscle and gristle, sending blood into the throbbing veiny monster he houses between his legs.

“Give me another or I’ll have to take it for myself.”

And I try. I force the wand deeper, thrusting against muscles that are weak from ecstasy, nerves twanging, their clenching too weak to get me where I need to go. Where he demands I be.

“Guess I’ll have to work for this one,” he murmurs, tongue licking me from my pussy all the way to my chin, the trail of saliva hot and wet against my skin while the knowledge he can’t get enough of me, can’t slake his need to taste me, makes my mind cave inwards, readying me for what comes next, what I crave, what I fear.

The toy is tossed aside as he mounts me. My eyes stretch wide, but they’re still unable to take in all of him.

He rubs the head of his cock along the length of my pussy, smiling to see how drenched I am, how much I want him, smiling as he rubs himself against the part of me that belongs to him, signature scrawled on the title deed, initials in the check box, signed, sealed, delivered, stored in the file cabinet with all the other important documents, secure enough to withstand the most agile thief.

His forever.

A whimper escapes my throat and I clamp my lips shut because he didn’t give me permission, not yet, maybe not ever.

He didn’t give me permission and the stern glance works as a reprimand, pinning me frozen against the mattress, shaking as he drags the head of his cock through my folds again, his gaze eating up my eager reaction.

Those golden flecked eyes catch every shake, every tremor, every twitch as my thigh muscles fight to spread wider, stretch past the point of comfort, wanting to give him better access than I’ve ever granted another, wanting his mark on me, in me, his thrust inside me a sign of possession as meaningful as a brand seared into my skin.

“You ready for me? Is my trembling angel ready to take her master’s cock?”

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