Page 110 of Trick

If I wanted to explore the outer reaches of intimacy without being inebriated by thorns, there were other ways.

Poet demonstrated by draping me across his mattress. Flattening one hand beside my head, he leaned over and whispered, “Do you trust me, my thorn?”

When I nodded, he reached toward the headboard. Something clicked like the fastening to a compartment, and the frame trembled.

Pulling back, Poet held a ribbon, which dangled off the plank of his finger. “Close your eyes.”

At this point, my gown was a velvet puddle on the ground beside his door. Tonight, we had barely made it into the room. Though, he was still fully clothed.

My thin shift remained the only vestment concealing me from him. He would not remove it unless I asked him to. While he had seen and felt a great deal of me, it had occurred in batches, the layers peeled back at their own pace.

I did not feel ready to bare myself completely. So he penetrated me in yet another new way.

Curiosity and yearning encouraged me to do as he bade.

“Hands behind the pillow,” he murmured.

Butterflies flapped in my stomach. I snuck my fingers under the mound cushioning my head.

The moment darkness enveloped me, his voice sailed into my ear. “Now then.” His lips tugged on mine, the kiss far too brief. “Let us see what you’re made of, hmm?”

The bed shifted with his weight as he climbed over me. My skin tingled, discerning another presence getting nearer.

Then the narrow strip of material slid across my mouth. I gasped, my breath puffing against the ribbon as it traced the margins of my lips. Like a tongue, it licked across my cheek, buffeted the outer curve of my ear, and stroked down the side of my neck.

Shivers followed the band’s path. Each one shimmied over my flesh.

The ribbon feathered over the crook of my neck and shoulder, then prickled along my collarbones. I squirmed, a small pant lifting into the air. I heard him breathing, too, steadily and thickly.

The fabric pursued every corner and crevice. Light as the tip of a brush, it circled each of my breasts, then coasted over the nipples.

I jolted, awash in a flurry of stimulation. Effervescence danced across my skin wherever the ribbon made contact. From one arm to the underside of my palm, to the back of my wrist.

He ghosted over my navel, tickled my kneecaps, and brushed my toes. Something akin to a giggle and a sigh sprung from me. Each part of my being grew hyperaware, so acutely attuned.

The ribbon disappeared. I grunted, only to be rewarded with his low chuckle. An instant later, the band trailed my hips, rolling from one to the other, constantly bypassing my core.

The nexus of my body clenched. My waist bucked, imploring the ribbon to slip under the shift. But Poet only resumed taunting the rest of me until my teeth burrowed into my lower lip, and I arched.

Every place vibrated like the strings of an instrument. Finally, that strip of cloth slithered up my inner thigh.

I parted my legs, welcoming the disorder.

Despite my undergarments, the ribbon skimmed over the fabric and grazed the opening. It glided along my slit just once. It was barely a touch, yet every nerve jumped. It charged through me and coaxed a tremulous noise from my mouth.

Then the ribbon swam over the projected shape of my clitoris. I gulped, and the apex buzzed. The band’s tip swished atop my peak, fluctuating from side to side. Each centimeter thrummed and percolated, my center stirring up its own commotion.

My hips lifted for more. The strip responded, circling and patting my clit like a quill. I whined and bounded my lower half against it, the contact too light when I needed it firmer. The frustration became its own sensation, which mounted with every swab, so that my respirations stuttered.

Moaning, I bolted my core upward, meeting the fabric’s ministrations over the bud. The nebulous touches made my thighs clench and drew arousal from their juncture. Still, I hefted myself toward the evasive cord as it wiped against me, the collision as impactful as a thrust.

I grasped the pillows and stabbed my fingernails into the down. My clit tightened, and my folds cramped. The titillation became so much, too much, until my flesh surrendered.

I opened my mouth, and a hard cry surged out. Each joint and muscle contracted as my core released itself. The ribbon beat gently onto the crest of nerves, as if mopping the fluid that drained from me.

My bones rattled. A string of moans quaked off my lips.

In the midst of that, Poet husked, “Beautiful.”

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