Page 51 of Tricky Girls

My clit twitches and I recommence my thrusting, fingers still strumming my clit.

Her makeup had been smeared that night and if the other two hadn’t been fully clothed, I’d have thought they’d all just fucked on the sofa.

Had Tilda not been Tilda, had she been any other girl, I might have stayed to watch, the fantasy of that sending a bolt to my pussy.

And suddenly I’m close, so, so close—

‘Pigeon,’Skylar breathes.

I sigh, pulling out of her.

From a cubbyhole, I retrieve some tissues, using them to clean the strap before passing them to Skylar.

I wait for her by the door, arms folded.

She pulls up her shorts, her hands shaking horribly. The whole of her is shaking.

‘You good?’

She moans, barely able to open her eyes, mascara smudged all around them. ‘Ask me again in ten minutes.’

Soon as she’s done, I unlock the door.

The dancers watch us exit. I wonder what they’re thinking, what they thought we did. I hope they wonder all bloody night.

I keep Skylar close to me as I hail two glasses of water. Leading us to a quiet snug in the cavern wall, I pull her between my legs, arms tight around her.

Haz might scoff at the notion of aftercare but I’ve always had more of a soul than her, battered and bruised as it is.

‘Got anymore gear?’ Skylar murmurs, no doubt coming down as hard as me. For such a tiny thing she can sure pack a lot away.

‘All out, I’m afraid.’

‘Another time then.’ Her head falls against my chest, her breathing levelling out until she’s practically asleep.

I set my phone timer for ten minutes, ready to be done with all this and call it a night.

Turns out some demons just can’t be exorcised.

Must’ve been in that room a while.

When I get back to the lodge, all is quiet.

Elly’s dead to the world on the sofa, the other two nowhere to be seen.

I chug some water in the kitchen, drowning in the sorrow of a bad come down. Tomorrow’s gonna fucking suck.

Leaving Elly a glass of water, I make my way upstairs.

The blade of that knife digs into my ass with every step. Forgot about that fucking thing.

The doorway to the spare room is ajar and I can’t help but peek in.

She’s there. Alone. Arm hooked over her pillow as she slumbers.

Sleeping the sleep of the innocent.

My hand slides into my back pocket, curling around the knife.

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