Page 28 of Devilish Ink

I imagined it was Ry’s blood. It wasn’t my racing pulse, but hers. Her inner thigh muscles twitching, her veins throbbing, her skin on fire as I drowned in her pussy.

I blinded myself with her panties, pretending it was her assover my eyes. Her velvet skin softer than the silk I pressed against my eye sockets. Her hips would rock, ass undulating over me, as my tongue fucked her deeper and deeper.

My wrist was losing its steady rhythm on my cock. The pace was growing more erratic and while I wanted to draw out the fantasy, I felt myself stroking my shaft faster and faster, desiring that release.

I licked my lips and I groaned as I imagined them wet from Ry’s delicate folds. Her fingers would be running over her hard nipples, carding through her thick hair, slipping inside her hot, tight mouth and all the while I would be greedily lapping up everything she had to give me.

I was on the verge of coming, just about to give a strangled shout of her name into her panties, wet from being stuffed in my mouth, balls drawn in so tight they ached, sheets a mess beneath my writhing body.

I heard the key in the front door.

Shit. Ry was home early.

LIAM

Ryleigh was home early. And I was touching myself on her bed with her panties over my face.

Fuck. I had to hide.Now.

I rolled under the bed and dragged my duffel under with me just as Ry opened her bedroom door. My body pulsed with the buzz of adrenaline and the burn of unfulfilled need, my cock still hanging semi-hard from my zipper.

Ry threw her purse onto the floor with a frustrated sigh. I watched as she kicked off her heels, one coming dangerously close to where I lay.

She seemed agitated. Not bothering with the lights as she paced.

From beneath the bed I could see myself in the mirrored door of her armoire. I was in the shadows but still, I was there to be seen.

I should have moved deeper beneath the bed. Away from the mirror. It was safer. Where she couldn’t see me.

Where I couldn’t seeher.

I remained motionless, not even breathing, as Ry wrenched off her black lace top. She flung it down into the laundry basketwith something like a growl. In a flimsy mesh bralette, she pressed balled-up fists against her eyes and shook her head.

I watched transfixed as Ry attempted to calm herself from whatever unspoken thoughts were causing her such anguish. Her measured breaths hypnotised me: curled in over herself, hand against her chest, her lips trembling slightly. When she straightened she seemed back in control.

She unzipped her miniskirt and laid it across the side of the basket instead of throwing it like the rest.

Her movements seemed glacially slow as she leaned over, her ass in black hose displayed for me. As Ry unrolled the stockings, her full breasts hung heavy in that barely there bra, and in the faint light I could make out the shape of her nipples.

My mouth watered beneath the bed and cum leaked from my dick. I was afraid I would come just like that, untouched, hand clasped over my panting mouth.

She opened the armoire to pull out an old oversized t-shirt and for a moment she disappeared from view. I saw the bralette fall onto the pile in the laundry basket, and when Ry closed the armoire door she stood completely naked, t-shirt hanging in a fist by her side.

She was perfect. Her alabaster skin was like the dark side of the moon, covered in all those tattoos: alluring and mysterious.

I wanted to map her, every fucking inch of her.

Ry looked at herself in the mirror for a moment and then turned hastily away. She threw the t-shirt over her head as she walked toward the bed and then the mattress compressed above me.

I thought she would fall asleep and then I’d slip out.

But instead of silence I heard her pound the pillow.

I tried to spy her in the mirror, but I couldn’t make out much.

She rolled from one side to the other. And then back. She huffed impatiently.

Whatever had been under her skin earlier clearly wasn’t gone.

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