Page 108 of Prince of Masks
He pushes in, his face finding the nook of my neck, buried, and his hot breaths tickling my skin.
He slams in to the hilt.
A grunt catches in my chest.
Eric grabs my legs and pins them to his hips, then purposely grinds himself against my aching core.
A shuddering groan escapes me, tangling with his hiss of pleasure, and he repeats.
I angle myself just right, hip lifted from the ground, and I hold onto him with an arm around his neck.
It’s… sufficient.
My face is twisted in concentration.
I jolt with the thrusts of his cock spearing in and out of me, and the frantic feel of his breaths on my neck tells me he’s building much faster than I am.
I squeeze my eyes shut—and just as I mean to focus, eyes like crushed glass flicker in my mind.
My breath hitches.
A flutter clenches around Eric’s cock, luring a moan from him.
I blink on it, the invasion of Dray into my thoughts. Then, again, I try to focus on the sensation, the grinding of Eric’s pelvic bone against my clit, the jut of his cock into my tensing core.
Still, his face is buried in the nook of my neck, his lips barely touching my skin. His breaths are choppy, suppressed, but he’s quiet—much too quiet.
I hate that.
Quiet men in the sack.
I want to hear him moan, whimper, mutter my name over and over, I want him coming for me in a long, drawn-out cry.
I don’t get that from Eric.
He’s lost in the sensations, feeling only his own pleasure, but he stifles any sounds that might come from him.
I throw my head back and tilt my hips that bit more—and there it is, the angle, the grind.
I let my lashes shut again.
Dray returns.
He haunts me.
A ghost I can’t banish.
I feel him, still. I feel the touch of yesterday, his hand gliding up my side, fingertips stroking me, the warmth of his gentle tongue over mine, his bulge pushing too hard against my core—
Then more comes to mind, things that are untrue, that never happened. His hand reaches my breast, thumb flicking over the hardness of my peaked nipple. A whimper escapes my parted lips, and he swallows it, greedy, hungry, desperate.
He’s in me now.
Holding me to him, thrusting, long and deep strokes. His moans build, they rise with my own.
But it’s Eric who picks up the pace; though I smell Dray, I taste Dray, I feel him desperate for me.
I arch against him, a cry lured out of me—then my body stills.
