Page 22 of King of Jokers

I’d asked for examples. To make mefeelso I could create something I’d never experienced. But what I was getting was a demonstration from a maestro who was destined to play only for me. It was no wonder he turned heads wherever he went, when his touch was the only thing to clear my ever running mind. When he was on me like this, there was no space for fear or uncertainty. No room for over-thinking, he consumed every fibre of my being.

With the stars above and the waves below, he tasted and took from me as though I was the antivenom to loneliness. And unable to contain myself, I met his vitality with vigour, acutely aware of our expiration date. Desperate to take whatever I could, while I could.

I longed to feel his skin under my hands, trace his chest with my finger trips, drawing patterns of our favourite constellations on his body. My own body thrummed with need, recharging and drawing on him as though he were my only source of life.

When my hands brushed his waist underneath his shirt, his response was electric, amplifying my need. I explored his back, nearly panting into his mouth at the way the definition of his muscles felt better than I ever could have imagined. The way he mapped my body by running his hands down my back and grabbing hold of my backside before pulling me into him.

The encouragement of how hard he was only incited me further as he walked me backwards up the beach, our mouths never parting until I reefed his shirt over his head, discarding it on the sand before throwing myself at him again.

As if I needed to track his entire being with my touch, my physical exploration of his chest only solidified everything I’d always thought.

He was flawless.

And Christ if he didn’t smell like seductive leather. I wanted to coat myself in his scent like an uniced cake. Who needed oxygen anyway?

“I need to taste you.” He said against my mouth and I felt my eyes widen in shock, my nipples so hard they throbbed. He reached for his shirt, shaking off the sand and laying it down carefully before he gestured for me to sit.

I obeyed instantly, drunk on the impending pleasure.

Dropping to his knees in front of me, he ran his hands up my legs which instinctively parted, his eyes coveting my body.

I leant back on my elbows, lifting my hips when he reached for my panties, easily gliding them down my legs. His eyes tracking the movement in the single most seductive moment of my life.

I knew I was already wet, his tongue in my mouth enough to cause heat to pool between my legs and I tried to pull my skirt down a little, suddenly embarrassed.

“Don’t,” he snapped and when I caught his gaze, I moaned softly. The desire was unmistakable and I stopped, letting him have his fill, just as I’d dreamed of doing for longer than I cared to admit.

“You make me ache,” he grumbled, before descending beneath my skirt. He parted me with his fingers before I felt the lightest flicker of his tongue against my flesh, eliciting a shiver from the deepest part of my soul.

Holy fire of hell.

My legs fell all the way open, my arms no longer able to hold myself up when he brought my clit into his mouth and sucked, his fingers pressing at my entrance.

“Jack,” I moaned, my hips rising of their own accord needing more friction and as always he read me as if I were written just for him. He circled my opening with his finger before entering me as his tongue flicked across my bud. His other hand gliding up my stomach and reaching for my breast with a squeeze which made me spasm with need. I ripped the straps of my shirt down, freeing my chest from the confines of my bra as he paused to look up.

“Oh, fuck.” He huffed, his fingers still swirling inside me as he moved up my body to take my nipple between his teeth. My heart hammered as his tongue circled my chest, his caress broken only with declarations of how much he loved my taste, how perfect I was or how he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

Me either.

Pressing another heated kiss to my mouth, he descended south – taunting me with languidly slow strokes while his finger moved in and out glacially.

He studied my body, repeating actions he sensed I liked, which at this point felt like every flick, touch or taste.

The animalistic groans he made when he dipped his tongue inside set my blood on fire, my ears ringing as he began pumping his hand in and out of me with renewed intensity.

I whimpered, my body writhing in the sand desperately, ravenous for the entirety of this man. Hooking his free hand around my hip, he yanked me down wolfishly as my body tingled with what I knew was imminent.

The curl of his finger inside me was my detonation, an explosion of senses as I erupted against his mouth, his name a call of pleasure out to the otherwise abandoned beach. The rumbling waves a backing track to the final act erupting just beyond its reach.

He encouraged my pleasure, lapping at my swollen pussy as I shook with the aftermath of what I would later realise was a fundamental moment of my life. The moment I realised the fall happened without my notice, like a shooting star disappearing before you’ve had the chance to really grasp the path it tracked across the night sky.

I’d fallen and it was hard, messy and unrequited.

I was in love with my best friend.

Docile comfortability came naturally when he was around. We laughed, shared our stories and fears – new and old – and basked in what was another chapter in our friendship, albeit entirely new. We swam in the pool, wandered the beach for shells and gazed at the stars at night, talking until one of us could no longer hold their eyes open. We shared lunches with his parents, phone calls with mine – which included seeing my divine new niece, Amelia – and quick trips into town, but mostly, it was just the two of us –sympaticoas we’d always found ourselves together.

The break was easy, freeing and wholesome.

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