Page 94 of Light As A Feather
“Give me a number so I know how many ways I need to fuck you to make up for lost time,” I demand as I shift my fingers up and down, sending an electric current of pleasure down my own spine.
“I can’t,” she whines as she drags her hands over her body, desperate.
“I guess it’ll be every day then.” She nods, biting her lip as she endears me with her doe eyes to give her what she needs. “Good thing you’re so good at taking me,” I groan as I thrust into her again, mesmerized by the way her tits bounce, the furrow of her brow before her eyes roll, the gasp that turns into a sigh—all of it,every sound, every micro expression. Her body is mine, molded and shaped to be beheld and worshipped by me. She’s simply divine.
“Thorne,” she moans as she laces her fingers through mine, balancing our hands atop her knees. “Don’t stop. I’m so close.”
All she needs is to ask, and I would do anything, but especially this. Always this. With smooth strokes, I pound into her, dragging my dick in and out of her, filling and feeling every inch of her. “Not yet, baby. I’m not ready for this to end.” Slowing my hips, I move at a painfully slow pace that earns a flustered sigh from her as she reaches down to play with her clit. I capture her hand and put it right back where I wanted it. “Mmm mmm, hold on, I’m setting the pace. This ismydream you came into, after all.” Massaging her inner thighs, I continue the slow slide in and out of her as I lean over and let my spit drip down her center. “Look at that.”
Her hips buck upward in response, her lips parted in silence, but the dilation of her pupils confirms how much she enjoys the way I toy with her.
Sliding my hand up the soft expanse of her stomach, I lean forward, burying myself completely inside her gripping cunt, then I kiss her. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Every inch of you inside”— I thrust—“and out,” I groan.
“Make me come, please.”
“If you want an orgasm, you’re going to have to take it because I could stay buried in this pussy all night.” Pulling her into a sitting position on my lap, I fist her hair. “Ride my dick, baby, use me to make yourself feel good. I want to watch you bounce on it.”
Without hesitation, she eases herself up and down my shaft, speeding her movements as she finds her rhythm until she’s riding me with greedy abandon. I devour every moan and sigh as she gives exactly what I asked of her.
“Fuck, I’m going to come.” I match her pace as our bodies meet in harsh momentum, forcing her to cry out. “I’m going to,” the words are lost to a grunt as I empty inside of her. She tightens mercilessly, and it all feels so real as she pulses around me. I guess for us, in every way it matters, it is.
I want to stay buried inside of her forever, but I’m forced back into the sad disappointment of my empty hotel room with a mess in my sheets to deal with.
Just another reason for me to hurry up and get this over with so I can get back to her.
Ivan’s frustration is a beast that haunts me, reaching for me, sniffing out my scent as he watches me from afar, but Thorne’s promise holds in his absence.
My thighs squeeze together at the reminder of last night. I couldn’t be more ready for him to come back home. Every moment he’s gone feels like an eternity—not knowing if he’s safe, having no idea what he’s up to. Hawthorne is rarely vague. I can only hope he’s not putting himself at risk for my sake.
This loophole we’ve found isn’t a perfect solution, but I’m grateful it buys us time, keeps me out of Ivan’s reach. It could work if we’re careful about it. Meticulous, even. Getting fucked for your own safety doesn’t seem like such a big compromise.
But knowing Hawthorne, it won’t be good enough. We won’t be able to rest until Ivan’s gone, which is why I’ve spent the last hour in his office looking for anything that might help me find a way to make Ivan’s absence more permanent.
My search has proved fruitless, but I’m not willing to give up just yet. Instead, I stroll through the house, hoping to inspire some creativity, maybe knock a tucked-away idea loose.
I start for the stairs with the best of intentions, but distraction is easy in this house, so many memories to get lost in. Running my hand along the wall, I can’t help but think ofafternoons spent kneeling in front of his record collection, a couple of melomaniacs introducing each other to new favorites and swapping the ones we were tired of. While I was dipping my toe into classics like Bauhaus and The Cure, he was always discovering new artists.
Then there was his mom, often popping in to educate us baby bats on the subgenres, evolution of goth sounds, and dropping short musical history lessons, such as the influence of funk, blues, and Black creatives as a whole on goth culture and the bands we loved. She was a professor through and through, and I soaked up every bit of knowledge she was willing to share, knowing how music was my lifeline, often the only thing standing between me and the ear-shattering arguments that filled my house day in and day out.
The music was a major part of it, obviously, but everything about the goth subculture had a formative impact on me. The respect and ethics, the appreciation of the macabre, the acceptance of the somber, the embrace of nonconformity, and the challenge to the mainstream had always resonated with me. The fact that Hawthorne shared those values shocked me at first, but after getting to know him—the real him—and his family, it made sense.
For a jock that was loved by everyone, he sure didn’t act like one of them. The disease that was popularity never managed to fully sink its claws into him. That’s why, despite all of our differences, we created a friendship built on mutual understanding.
That friendship was the foundation for everything.Rock solidand forged from years of deep bonding. It’s why, despite the hopelessness that Ivan tried to drown me in, when Hawthorne says to trust him, I can’t help but believe that there’s a way out of this. He’s never let me down.If anyone can figure it out,it’s us.
Losing track down memory lane, I don’t even register that I’ve walked down the stairs and onto the back deck until the sun beams down on my face as it peeks through the clouds. Perfect weather for a walk.
A morbid curiosity propels me toward the mausoleum. Whether I intend to look upon my dead body, I’m not sure. On the one hand, it could be therapeutic. On the other hand, what if it’s traumatizing? I’ve worked with dead things most of my life, but my own corpse might be taking it too far.
As I approach, I halt in my tracks. On the steps is a woman with dark brown hair who looks to be in her early twenties.
“Hello?”
Instead of answering, she stands and silently walks into the tree line.
Hesitating for a moment, I consider whether it’s smart to follow. But I can’t just not, right?Shit.
Jog-walking, I follow. “Wait,” I shout when I finally spot her again, but the woman continues deeper into the trees. I’m forced to pick up the pace to keep up with her. The path she sets isn’t an easy one to follow, but I make my way through. Catching glimpses of her, I finally manage to catch up.
