and raise up my arms, looking down at him with contempt in my eyes the whole time. He pulls it off over my head and throws it off to one side.
I stand up, bending at the waist, and brace one arm against his meaty shoulder. I don’t want him to look away from my eyes. I don’t want his red eyes to stray from my gaze. They don’t.
I slip out of my cut-offs with one hand, one leg and then the other, then toss them aside with my shirt. Now we’re both equally naked and vulnerable.
I lower myself into his lap and kiss him again, both hands on his face. Trent closes his eyes and relaxes his mouth this time, letting his body do the same. He’s not so rigid anymore, except for the most obvious source of his arousal, saluting upward between us.
My hand falls onto his length, stroking him lightly as we keep kissing. He engorges at my touch, but my thumb and middle finger can barely reach around his girth.
Trent takes the initiative next, gripping my waist. He lifts me up, brings me down, and just like that it’s settled. As if we were always headed here, as if there was no turning back. Not from the moment we kissed, but much, much earlier.
This dance has been going on since he first appeared to me as a glimpse into my future, then again, replacing Mason in the vision that wouldn’t go away. Now that vision has come to pass.
Trent takes what he wants as if this is a foregone conclusion. He spreads open my nethers like a prophecy fulfilled. I grind against his freshly mended stomach, replaced with rippling muscles that offer all the resistance my breach craves.
Time ebbs in this oppressive heat, but most of all I’m surprised by how attentive Trent is. He takes the time to learn me by feel and touch. Angle and depth, massaging my sheath with his manhood.
I don’t have to fake a single orgasm. He uses my audible pleasure as a guide, figuring out what I like most of all, how to make me come, over and over again, and not a single vision, which is a whole separate matter I should be worried about. I should be, but I’m not.
Trent is really good at this, and he still hasn’t changed out of being human.
That’s when I realize how alone we are, the privacy of this moment between us. No spells to siphon his lust, no Candice or Saffron following along through my connection to the quicksilver pool. Trent and I truly alone, in a stone room, visible to each other only by torchlight.
A torch on the verge of guttering out. It’s all just so unexpectedly erotic.
Trent is lost inside me, rhythmically making love to my body for nobody’s pleasure but our own. Not the quicksilver pool, not my coven, and especially not Sylvia, feeling everything that Mason does.
Mason —that ignites a pang of guilt. Does their twin connection still bother me? My time with Mason has been amazing, but something definitely changed when I found out about Sylvia.
Has my time with Mason been deprived of what I’m feeling right now? This glimpse of perfect intimacy that nobody else can share?
What I know for certain is that I don’t want this moment to end. I’m enjoying it far too much, more than I ever imagined, especially as Trent has been hatching schemes about me this entire time.
The pragmatic side of my personality is starting to kick in, counting the seconds and waiting for the torch to extinguish. To deliver Trent and I back into the darkness. Passing the time with pleasure and waiting to take advantage of that blindness.
It’s possible Trent is waiting as well, but for a different reason.
The flame dies out, and he growls in the dark for the first time. That’s when I feel him swell inside of me. It would normally be too much to take.
The formidable girth of him causes the last vestiges of my Maintain the Flesh spell to expire as he widens inside me. No sooner has that protection ended than the heat of this place slams into me like a wall.
How is Trent able to endure this oppressive temperature? Surely he’s been here before,
I stand up, bending at the waist, and brace one arm against his meaty shoulder. I don’t want him to look away from my eyes. I don’t want his red eyes to stray from my gaze. They don’t.
I slip out of my cut-offs with one hand, one leg and then the other, then toss them aside with my shirt. Now we’re both equally naked and vulnerable.
I lower myself into his lap and kiss him again, both hands on his face. Trent closes his eyes and relaxes his mouth this time, letting his body do the same. He’s not so rigid anymore, except for the most obvious source of his arousal, saluting upward between us.
My hand falls onto his length, stroking him lightly as we keep kissing. He engorges at my touch, but my thumb and middle finger can barely reach around his girth.
Trent takes the initiative next, gripping my waist. He lifts me up, brings me down, and just like that it’s settled. As if we were always headed here, as if there was no turning back. Not from the moment we kissed, but much, much earlier.
This dance has been going on since he first appeared to me as a glimpse into my future, then again, replacing Mason in the vision that wouldn’t go away. Now that vision has come to pass.
Trent takes what he wants as if this is a foregone conclusion. He spreads open my nethers like a prophecy fulfilled. I grind against his freshly mended stomach, replaced with rippling muscles that offer all the resistance my breach craves.
Time ebbs in this oppressive heat, but most of all I’m surprised by how attentive Trent is. He takes the time to learn me by feel and touch. Angle and depth, massaging my sheath with his manhood.
I don’t have to fake a single orgasm. He uses my audible pleasure as a guide, figuring out what I like most of all, how to make me come, over and over again, and not a single vision, which is a whole separate matter I should be worried about. I should be, but I’m not.
Trent is really good at this, and he still hasn’t changed out of being human.
That’s when I realize how alone we are, the privacy of this moment between us. No spells to siphon his lust, no Candice or Saffron following along through my connection to the quicksilver pool. Trent and I truly alone, in a stone room, visible to each other only by torchlight.
A torch on the verge of guttering out. It’s all just so unexpectedly erotic.
Trent is lost inside me, rhythmically making love to my body for nobody’s pleasure but our own. Not the quicksilver pool, not my coven, and especially not Sylvia, feeling everything that Mason does.
Mason —that ignites a pang of guilt. Does their twin connection still bother me? My time with Mason has been amazing, but something definitely changed when I found out about Sylvia.
Has my time with Mason been deprived of what I’m feeling right now? This glimpse of perfect intimacy that nobody else can share?
What I know for certain is that I don’t want this moment to end. I’m enjoying it far too much, more than I ever imagined, especially as Trent has been hatching schemes about me this entire time.
The pragmatic side of my personality is starting to kick in, counting the seconds and waiting for the torch to extinguish. To deliver Trent and I back into the darkness. Passing the time with pleasure and waiting to take advantage of that blindness.
It’s possible Trent is waiting as well, but for a different reason.
The flame dies out, and he growls in the dark for the first time. That’s when I feel him swell inside of me. It would normally be too much to take.
The formidable girth of him causes the last vestiges of my Maintain the Flesh spell to expire as he widens inside me. No sooner has that protection ended than the heat of this place slams into me like a wall.
How is Trent able to endure this oppressive temperature? Surely he’s been here before,
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