Chapter 19 WESTLEY
ME:
Are you a spender or a saver?
TRICKSTER:
Definitely a saver. I like to be prepared. You?
ME:
I save, but I’ll also treat myself every now and then. If something needs replacing or upgrading I won’t hesitate.
TRICKSTER:
What was the last thing you bought for fun?
ME:
I don’t know… probably some new running shoes.
TRICKSTER:
Boring *sleeping-emoji*
ME:
*smile-emoji* What about you?
TRICKSTER:
A double penetration vibrator. Told you I wanted to try anal.
ME:
You said you were joking!
TRICKSTER:
But, was I…?
ME:
Living up to the name, Trickster.
TRICKSTER:
It’s Maevyn. Make sure you say it loud enough when you touch yourself later so I can hear it over the balcony *wink-emoji*
ME:
Careful what you wish for *smirk-emoji*
***
My thoughts of Maevyn have turned borderline obsessive.
I wake up, and I wonder what she’s doing.
I’m at work, and I’m thinking about the way her eyes light up every time she banters with me.
I go for a run, and my mind replays all the times we’ve sat under the stars, talking over our balconies, open and real.
I’m in the shower, and I think of the way her body moved around mine when she came to class last week.
Those thoughts always have me reaching for my cock, gripping tight and pumping up and down until my cum spills over my hand, and the relief still doesn’t simmer, because it’s not the real Maevyn.
And when I go to bed, all I feel is when her lips brushed mine at camp the other week.
The stunned gasp that had her mouth falling open, practically begging me to dip inside and taste more of her.
How in the hell am I going to survive faking it when we go away for the wedding next weekend? With no one else around to act as a buffer. Playing the part of a loved-up couple. And only one room…
“That Aurora’s a good kid,” Phil says as we walk through The Matchbox.
We’re out for Crew’s bucks party, about thirty of us gathered for the occasion. We’ve already been to four different bars, including this one, and now we’re headed to our last stop at a billiards club.
“Yeah, she’s great.” After class earlier in the week, Maevyn and Aurora hung back a few minutes to chat with Phil and me before they left. The second they were out the door, Phil laughed and said nothing more about it.
“Maevyn seemed nice as well.”
“She is.” I nod.
Phil hums. “And if you think you two are faking, then we both agree I have a head full of luscious locks.”
I stop, turning to look at his bald head, the neon lights of the club reflecting off it like a disco ball.
“Did you see what I did there?” Phil asks. “I talked a whole lot of shit. Just like you.” He pokes a finger into my chest. “You two are faking nothing!”
“Shhh!” I smack his hand away, my eyes searching amongst our friends to see if anyone’s in earshot, but thankfully, they’re all busy in their own conversations, talking loudly and walking a little unsteady, thanks to the drinks. “The faking thing is meant to be a secret. Remember?”
“Well, good news, mate. Everyone will believe it.”
Plush seating lines the walls with a long stage set at the back of the room. There’s another section past the bar with multiple alcoves of seating, and poles in the centre, mounted to the ceiling. Women in varying degrees of undress slide up and down, spin around, and contort themselves around it.
“I’m glad we didn’t spend a lot of time here,” Phil mutters in my ear. “I don’t want my wife thinking anyone but her gets my heart rate up.”
“Most of the guys are married or have long-term partners.” I nod, agreeing with his sentiment. “I think Josh just wanted to send Crew off into married life in the most traditional sense.”
Our group hovers by the exit as Josh, the best man, talks to the hostess, and I briefly glance around the club.
It doesn’t do anything for me. Part of what drives my attraction to people is getting to know them.
I love earning the trust that makes them open up, creating something that feels special between us. Something that will last.
I’m so zoned out to my thoughts that it takes me a second to recognise her.
I guess that answers my question of whether Maevyn was being serious when she said she danced at a club.
She stands beside a table of enthusiastic guys, saying something as she whips up some fancy drink on the trolley beside her.
Her hair hangs long down her back instead of sitting just past her shoulders, and her curves are encased in a black mesh bodysuit.
Decorative lace and tassels cleverly shield most of her breasts, with more details cinching at her waist.
Every time I think I’ve found another piece of her puzzle, she tricks me with something else that disrupts the picture. All that wit and mischief she wields keeps me on my toes, but I like it. I really like it.
My heart almost beats out of my chest when she turns around, giving me her back.
Her arse looks phenomenal—full, rounded cheeks that were made for my hands.
I spy another tattoo at the top of her left arsecheek, a red kiss that has my mouth dropping open.
It goes dry, imagining putting my own mouth there, sinking my teeth into the flesh.
I’m utterly transfixed as I watch her commanding the attention of the men at the table.
My gut sours as I watch them hang off her every word, eyes greedily taking her in.
My breath comes in hard and rough. I have no claim over her.
She’s her own woman, and she can do what she wants, what she needs.
But a wild need burns under my skin, demanding I cross the room and mark her as mine.
Show all the men here that they can look, but they’ll never get the woman underneath the mask.
Josh calls my attention back to the group I came with. “Say thank you to the lovely ladies, men,” he says. “Off we go to the last stop.”
Phil smacks a hand against my chest, and I somehow force my feet to follow, but now I’m more desperate than ever to figure out my trickster.