Page 22 of Dirty Tricks

His voice is so nice, so different without the modulator distorting it. My hands pull him closer again, moving across his face, his chest, caressing the muscled solidity of his arms. “Can I kiss you?”

He crouches a little for me, not forcing me to stand on my tiptoes, neck craning back. And when my fingers find his mouth, trace out the shape of his pouty lips, he lifts me to his height,easilylifts me, like I weigh nothing at all.

My legs wrap around his waist, my ankles hooking together so even if his strong arms falter, I’ll stay securely in place.

Then I bend my head forward, pressing my lips against his. A tender touch, softer than the angora jumper tossed aside in my room. Soft enough that my hands cradle his skull, holding him steady so I can press my lips harder against his, so I can explore them, sucking the plumpness into my mouth, tasting the faint metallic tang of his skin.

He lets me explore him, lets me lick and nibble and plunder his mouth, increasing the pressure at my whim, the sensation intensified by the dark cocooning us, trapping us in a space where touch is king, hearing the queen by his side.

My hands splay across his chest, fumbling with his buttons, eager to stroke the taut muscles hidden underneath, to cup those broad shoulders and luxuriate in the silkiness of skin against skin.

When I have the first three undone, I’m too impatient to wait. I fasten my lips to his collarbone, sucking along the ridge there, my tongue licking and tasting him, lapping at the saltiness of his skin, inhaling his unique musk—a mix of grass, earth, grease, oil, and the scent of hard manual labour.

A scent that makes my eyelids flutter in rapture.

His hands spread across my back, easily holding me, supporting me. Then one moves, cupping my side, the thumb stroking farther inward, caressing the curve of my breast, the nipple peaking with excitement at the touch.

A moan escapes my throat, a signal of encouragement that he takes and runs with, hand moulding my tits, holding them, squeezing them, moving from one to the other while my mouth continues to explore his, my kiss ravenous like I’ve not eaten for days. My teeth nip at his bottom lip, making it swell, making it better, especially when he follows my lead, giving back to me whatever I gift to him. Learning what I like and adjusting on the fly, so I have more of it.

Then his mouth moves, finds the shell of my ear, overloading me with a heavy breath that vibrates through my aural canal like the world’s best and most specific sex toy. The words that follow cause just as much excitement. “I want to taste you. Can I taste you?”

And I nod, I whisper yes, desire twisting me into knots as he places me atop the bench again, briefly cupping my cheek before he drops to his knees.

A shiver hits behind my ribcage, pulling on a cord of desire, making a connection from my lips, my thundering heart, my tender stomach, to the needy flesh pulsing between my legs.

His large hands grip my thighs, thick fingers curling over the tops, the rough pads a delicious sensation against the tender flesh.

I jump as I feel Xander’s tongue, on edge in a hundred different ways. The long strokes along the inside of my lips, teasing at my clit, are something I’ve never had before.

It’s amazing. I close my eyes so nothing he’s doing gets past me. All my nerves jump and flutter with delight until I can’t help but release a soft moan.

The moment I do, his head lifts and I whimper.

“Am I doing it wrong?”

“No one’s ever done this for me before.” I wriggle my toes and give a soft laugh. “But I don’t think so. The only note I have is more. Give me more.”

His smile is wide and weird and wicked. “More coming right up for the lady.”

Oh, but I’ve never felt less like a lady. As his tongue drags through my folds, drawing forth a bundle of responses I didn’t know my body could produce, I’m the farthest thing possible from a lady.

A tramp, perhaps? That sounds more like it. As the full length of his middle finger slides inside me, the tip curling in a come-on gesture as he slowly drags it back out, tramp seems perfect.

Everything seems perfect.

My hips rock, my fingers tangling in his hair. I try to be gentle, but the overload of sensations clouds my head, my judgement, until I’m rougher than I mean to be. Until I tug and twist and have to force myself to let go.

“Don’t stop,” Xander says, coming up for air, his nose dragging back and forth over the tender flesh of my inner thigh, the tease somehow stimulating my clit even more than when his tongue flicks over it. “Pull my hair as much as you like. Drag me wherever you need me to go.”

And the place I drag him is straight to my greedy mouth, splaying my legs to bring him closer, opening myself to him, devouring his attention in return, close to sobbing with joy.

“Are you sure you’re not a dream?” I pinch his forearm. “Because you seem far too good to be true.”

His lips press against the shell of my ear, his heavy breaths driving me wild. “Only for you. For anyone else, I’m a nightmare.”

And that’s even better. My lover and my protector. I know without him having to say that he’s the one who’s looked out for me since I turned up here. He stopped the teasing before it could grow into bullying. He made sure I had a safe space within Kingswood’s walls.

“I want your cock inside me,” I moan, my lips seeking his again, unable to get enough of him, desperate to have more, to have as much as he’s willing to share.

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