Page 13 of Polar Prank
They echo through my body only ratcheting my desire to release.
Brinker has never been one to talk much, but here, in the hush and glow, he whispers my name over and over, as if it is the only word that matters.
Iclyn.
Iclyn.
Iclyn.
It’s a mantra calling out to my soul.
My world narrows to the sensation of his cock entering and leaving my body. A shudder of anticipation rolls through me. My pulse throbs in every cell. I catch his face in my palms and kiss him fiercely, tasting the faint sharpness of peppermint from dessert and the warmth of bourbon from his drink on his tongue.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recall every Christmas I’ve spent alone, every present I’ve wrapped for the children because the idea of anyone being lonely hurt more than I could bear. Now, with Brinker, I understand what it means to be seen,to be wanted not just for a single night but hopefully for all the holidays that might follow.
He slows, gazing down at me with a kind of wonder that would’ve embarrassed me if I didn’t need him so badly.
“You okay?” he whispers, his thumb stroking my cheek.
I nod, my throat too tight for words. My fingers dig into the planes of his shoulder blades as though I can anchor myself to him and never let go. His body starts back up and it’s more urgent this time. We’re racing toward something special.
Brinker’s mouth finds my ear, then the hinge of my jaw, then lower, leaving behind a trail of heat and intention. I cling to him with both hands, not trusting myself to speak, not trusting words at all. Instead, I let my body say everything I can’t. The room fades to a flicker of colored lights, and the only thing that matters is the connection that we’re building.
I yield to the unraveling of every wall I’ve built for shelter over the years. My body responds to his with a quiet urgency, a hunger that is craving— an ache unburdened for the first time by fear or doubt. I watch Brinker’s face change in small increments in the shifting glow of the Christmas lights.
Awe, concentration, something like…hope? He looks at me as if he’s never seen me before, as if I’m new and rare and impossible to be there with him.
His face is only the width of a paper from mine, his breaths ragged. And then the warmth starts— spreading through me, radiating from every place our bodies are connected. Brinker moves quick and uninhibited. Without warning, pleasure blooms out from my center, not sharp or overwhelming, but deep and delicious— an ache that is so much more than physical. Brinker holds me through it, cradled as if I’m breakable and he is afraid to let go.
He presses our foreheads together, sweat-slicked and shivering, and whispers, “I see you, Iclyn. I hear you. I feel with you.”
I arch my back and continue rocking through the volcano that’s bursting from me, matching his pace and joining him with trust.
When a second release hits me, it’s like breaking the surface after a lifetime underwater. The world goes silent except for the echo of his name on my lips, the way my body dissolves and reconstitutes takes my breath away. I cling to him, nails digging crescent moons into his shoulder blades as I fragment to my very soul.
“Brinker,” I whisper his name my body pulsing from the inside out.
His lips meet mine as he brings me down on his cock hard and seats deep inside of me, releasing. For a moment, neither of us moves. The only sound is the quick in and out of our breaths.
My heart’s fills with an unfamiliar relief. I’ve spent my life finding ways to be necessary to others, to children who deserve gifts and happiness, to neighbors who need casseroles and connection, to a world that demands my usefulness but never gave me the luxury of being cherished just for myself. But this man has shown me I can be the center of his universe.
“Wow, Iclyn,” he says through a long exhale.
Yeah, wow…
He rolls onto his back and pulls me with him, swaddling us in the soft, worn comfort of my flannel sheets. I rest my cheek on his chest, listening to the erratic thunder of his heart as it gradually settles into a calm, steady beat. He strokes my hair in slow, uncertain passes, as if he can’t quite believe I’m here and his to hold.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Brinker murmurs, the words calming my anxiety.
Everyone leaves…
“You’d better not,” I say on a sigh.
For once, I don’t have to feel like I’m being left behind. Maybe I’ve been found.
9
BRINKER
