Page 10 of Dirty Tricks

And I don’t know what dark part of my brain tapped into this scenario but my libido roars like a fucking lioness, stamping the ground, impatiently waiting for her partner to mount her and rut like the king of the motherfucking savannah.

I imagine his palm pressing against my shoulder, effortlessly pinning me to the bed while his cock teases me, strokes me, makes my pussy salivate until I must be dripping onto the sheets.

Then he rams home, filling me with one thrust, gargantuan pressure, stretching me until my nerves sing, bringing me a bottomless helping of the good pain, the sweetest pain, pinning me with his cock the same way his hand pins my shoulder.

My hand clutches my bare tit, pressing and moulding, pinching at my nipple, revelling in the rough sensation as my mind paints his hands over mine, making everything a thousand times better.

He pushes deep into my body, leaving a gaping imprint that any other man would struggle to fill, pushing into me until my pussy aches at the stretch.

I hear his ragged groans in my ear, the cloth of his bandanna fluttering against my neck, sensing his teeth through the thickness of the fabric as he fastens his mouth onto my shoulder, the pressure increasing, tearing at me as the speed of his stroke increases, plunging into me again and again and again while I forget how to breathe, how to think, how to do anything except be a receptacle for the gift of his massive cock.

The fantasy becomes so real, so all-enveloping that I hear his breathing, the walls of the room echoing as my lungs adjust to his timing, synching effortlessly with his rhythm. My aural channels pulsate with ecstasy, adding to the sensation of my vaginal walls clinging to the wand. My pussy sucks it in and pushes it out, nearing completion, chasing it, gaining until it’s right there, right within my grasp.

And at the last moment, the instant before I come, my foot stretches out to knock the phone over, tumbling it onto its screen, this moment for me and only for me, this perfect rumbling clenching orgasm a solitary endeavour tailored perfectly to my dreams.

The waves claim me, crashing into the shore with the same force the ocean beats boulders into sand, plundering me, hammering me, beating me into submission until my consciousness hangs by a solitary thread, the only thought left guiding me to turn off the machine that my thighs clamp around like a prize they don’t want to surrender.

Muscles twitching, head drifting, I lie spent on the bedcovers, my chest sucking in gigantic mouthfuls of air.

Too frantic to bear lying still, I stumble from the bed, legs uncoordinated as they try to remember their purpose aside from clenching around an imaginary arse, begging an imaginary cock to shove deeper.

A few staggering steps get me to the bathroom, where I slide the door closed behind me. Usually, I shy from the mirror, hating to be the centre of attention—even my own—but now I meet the gaze of my reflection. I stare at my heaving chest, at the glisten of sweat across my forehead, my cheeks, my collarbones.

I feel amazing. The shame of self-pleasure is completely absent. All that’s left behind is a glow of wellbeing from head to toe.

My head sags as I brace myself on the edge of the sink, panting like I’ve just run a marathon. My eyes are wild, too much white showing. I’m still more turned-on than I’ve been in my life before, aching for another release though it’s only seconds since I came.

I force myself to stand upright, suppressing a shiver as I send the incomplete video. Then I jump into the shower, cleaning myself and soaping my toy until it passes the sniff test.

My stomach grumbles, recovered from its earlier spasms. I drink a glass of hot water to curb my appetite, then move into the bedroom, pulling on the long tee I use as a sleep shirt.

When I turn to place my vibrator under the pillow, I see a treat waiting for me.

A cellophane wrapped cookie tied with pretty jute string.

My numb brain doesn’t understand how it’s there when I didn’t hear the door opening, didn’t hear a thing.

I pick it up, sniffing, my nostrils filling with the scent of cut grass and engine oil. A cookie manifesting on command the same way my dream man manifested in my bed minutes earlier.

I don’t know how it got there.

I don’t care.

My shaking fingers tear at the wrapper, biting into the chewy goodness of the biscuit, tasting the lumps of chocolate, the hint of vanilla and cinnamon baked into the treat.

With the buttery concoction filling my belly, I lie in bed, knees curled to my chest as I wait for the warm embrace of sleep. The fan underneath me sucks air in and pushes it out, sounding like a living breathing human being.

My phone buzzes and I check the screen. A heart symbol from Finn. A thank you for the video, despite its cut-short ending.

He can be so sweet sometimes and I love him so much, I really do.

It’s just that sometimes, the thing I love most about Finn is that in two months, when he graduates, I’ll never have to see him again.

CHAPTERTHREE

XANDER

I waitfor another ten minutes after I hear Lexa fall asleep, then push aside the baseboard underneath her bed to crawl into the room.

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