Page 67 of Taste of Thorns
For a moment, we simply watch each other, me thrusting my fingers in and out of myself, him stroking his fist up and down his cock.
“Briony,” he pants, “how do you like to be taken? Hard and rough, or slow and gentle?”
“All of it. I like it all.”
“Lift your leg, little one. Let me see more.”
I bend my leg, resting my heel on the edge of the stool and showing him even more.
“I can see your other hole too. Do you like it there too?”
“I think I might,” I admit. “Beaufort put his fingers inside me tonight.”
He growls and his fist becomes more frantic. I match his pace, moving my fingers in time with his hand, and we both imagine.
He comes first. His features tighten, he grunts, then his jaw slackens and ribbons of come shoot from his cockhead, splashing onto the floor.
As he does, his shadows glide from his body and swim in shimmering circles around my light, the feeling of it electrifying not only against my skin but all the way through to my bones.
I didn’t think anything like that could look so beautiful, but it does. And I come right after him, squeezing around my own fingers.
“I can see your pussy clenching, little one,” he growls.
“Yeah,” I moan, “I want to clench around that beautiful cock of yours so badly, Thorne.”
I ride the last few aftershocks of pleasure and then I’m catching my breath.
He’s still watching me, his eyes swimming all over my naked body.
“Have you ever jerked off in front of a girl like that before?” I ask him.
“No,” he says. “You’re my first for everything, Briony.”
I don’t know why, but that makes a warmth spread through my chest.
“It was special,” I say. “If I can’t touch you, Thorne, I want to at least do this.”
A rare smile dances across his face. “You’ve opened Pandora’s box, Briony. Of course, we are going to do this again.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Thorne
“Think you might be able to sleep now, little one?” I ask her softly.
My shadows are humming contentedly inside me. The most at peace I’ve ever known them. The feeling is matched in my body and right in the center of my chest. This tension I’ve been carrying ever since I met her has lifted. I feel lighter. Happier even.
She smiles back at me and it’s so pretty, my heart skips a beat, and I want so badly to gather her up in my arms and kiss her, whisper against her lips just how beautiful she is.
“Maybe,” she says, “maybe I’ll be lying in bed reliving that all night instead.”
“Ha,” I say. “Me too.”
She ties the silk gown back around her body and I do up my pants, using my magic to clean up the mess I’ve made on the floor.
We walk side by side towards the bedrooms. At the doorway to Beaufort’s she pauses.
“You could come in,” she says.
