28
Demi
Magic is real, and I can prove it.
The proof is in the way Tristan Beaumont’s hands roam my body, in the way his mouth on my skin ignites all my nerve endings. The proof is in the groans that rumble from his chest and scratch a part of my brain that I didn’t know existed.
The proof is that he is here, flesh and blood and bone, and the way he touches me makes the rest of the world fade into a soft, white blur.
He takes me by the hand and leads me upstairs to my bedroom.
My legs are unsteady with adrenaline and need.
I’ve never been touched the way he touched me in the living room.
Like he lost all restraint, operating on his desire alone, and that desire consumed everything in its path. I’ve never felt so wanted in my life.
It was impressive that he managed to regain control enough to slow us down. I lost the wherewithal for that the moment I touched his hard cock, and he made that noise. A noise that sounded half animal, half agony. It altered the chemistry in my brain, and I’ll remember it until the day I die.
In my room, I watch him take his clothes off.
He peels off his shirt, and the first thing I notice is how well-muscled his back and shoulders are.
He is strong and broad and tall enough to eclipse me by about a foot.
The moonlit shadows curve around his arms, making the corded lengths of them stand out in stark relief.
A body like his could destroy me, and I’d say thank you.
Tristan takes his pants off, his cock still impossibly hard, then he takes a deep, trembling breath and sits down on the edge of my bed. His hair falls over one eye as he looks at me with an expression that can only be described as hungry. He crooks his long fingers at me, beckoning me to him.
“Come here,” he says.
Fuck, why is that so hot?
As I approach Tristan, he opens his knees, and I step close, standing between them. I comb my fingers through his hair; I can’t resist. I’ve been thinking about how those dark waves would feel since I first saw a photograph of him. His eyes roll closed at my touch, and his jaw pops as he grinds it.
His hands, his big, beautiful hands, begin a slow and torturous ascent up my legs.
He starts at my calves, over my knees, then up my thighs.
Tristan keeps his eyes on my face the whole time, and the look in them makes my lower belly clench in response.
His fingers slide under the hem of my t-shirt, then hook gently in the waistband of my panties.
Tristan swallows hard, then asks, “May I?”
“Yes.” It’s more breath than voice when it comes out of my mouth, because then Tristan pulls down my panties just as slowly as he explored my legs. The cool air suddenly between my thighs and the soft rasp of his knuckles along my skin make me shiver .
I grip his shoulders as I step out of my panties. My world stops when he raises the lust-drenched fabric to his face and inhales.
“ Fuck , Demi. You smell so good.”
Those words make my knees go weak, and I press my thighs together as tight as I can to stave off the sheer desperation building between them.
Tristan tugs at the hem of my shirt. “Can you take this off for me? I need to see you.”
The way he asks for things from me makes me feel drunk. There’s an authority in his voice that makes me want to say “Yes, Sir,” but it’s tinged with just enough of his vulnerable yearning that I’d give him whatever he wants even without that commanding edge.
Crossing my arms over my body, I lift my shirt off, and when I’m exposed in front of him, Tristan’s sharp intake of breath echoes through the silence in my bedroom. His pupils are blown, and his gray eyes darken almost to black as he drinks in the sight of me before him.
“There’s never been anyone more beautiful than you,” he says.
I smirk. “Ever?”
Tristan shakes his head, gaze inextricable from my naked breasts. My nipples harden under his sweet scrutiny. “Never ever. In the history of the world.”
His hands circle my waist, and I stand in front of him, letting him look his fill.
It’s like he’s cataloging every curve and dimple.
I’ve never felt so exposed, so naked, but also so cherished.
His chest rises and falls unevenly, his breath coming out in short, trembling bursts that tickle my bare skin .
“Can I touch you?” he asks, starving and tormented.
When I nod, he shakes his head.
“Say it out loud for me. I need to hear you say yes.”
“Yes.”
And then he’s on me.
His hands cup my tits, and he groans, loud and long, then squeezes them in his hands. They’re a perfect fit for his long fingers and wide palms, and his touch there is so good that I have to sink my teeth into my bottom lip to keep from whimpering.
“ Christ, ” he snarls, and pulls me closer, setting his mouth to me with the voracious hunger of a man long denied sustenance.
He worships ?my tits: sucking and biting and nuzzling and groping.
He works me over for so long that my entire body starts to shake with pleasure, and my hands claw into his hair, pulling his mouth closer like I can’t get enough.
My head falls back, and I’m panting as he pulls my nipple into his mouth and sucks the life out of me.
“Does it feel good, baby?” he asks.
“So fucking good.”
“Sit on the edge of the bed.”
I do as he says, then he stands, turns toward me, and drops to his knees between my legs. The sight of him on his knees, ?his face stricken with desperation and his hair a mess from my hands, does ungodly things to me.
“I need to taste your pretty cunt.”
Tristan presses a hand to the center of my chest, forcing me to lie down. Then he grabs my ankles, pulls my ass to the very edge of the bed, and slides my legs over his broad shoulders.
With the flat of his tongue, he takes one long, slow lick of me, and we both groan.
“Oh, fuck ,” he says. Then shifts his body and crawls up until his face is right above mine, looking at me like I’m the sun, the moon, and the stars.
“Don’t stop so soon,” I tease.
“Open your mouth,” he demands, and all my amusement fades. The dark need in his tone curls my toes. “I want you to taste how good you are.”
I open my mouth.
He spits my own arousal onto my tongue.
“Swallow.”
Holy shit.
I swallow.
“See how good you taste?”
“So good.”
“Fucking right, so good.”
Then his face is between my legs again, eating me like I’m a meal— his first and his last. He plays my clit like an instrument with his tongue, paying attention to what makes me writhe until he finds a rhythm and pressure that’s just right, and I’m moaning for him, thighs trembling on either side of his head.
Tristan slides one long finger inside me and curls it upwards in a “come here” motion, and his other hand flattens on my lower stomach, pressing down gently. Pleasure is a hot storm rolling through me.
“So fucking tight,” he growls against my pussy. “Can you take another finger, pretty girl?”
“Please,” I slur. I don’t even think I’m on the same planet right now. I’m in orbit, rocketing to outer space from the perfection this man is delivering to my body. He’s wrecking me in the best way.
He slides another finger inside me and sucks my clit into his mouth, and all of that, combined with the hand pressing down on my tummy and the hungry groans he makes as he eats me alive, pushes me over the edge.
The orgasm slams into me with all the grace of a hurricane. Tristan’s name screams from my throat like a crack of lightning, and my body shakes uncontrollably as he continues to suck and lick and stroke me until he wrings every last drop of pleasure from me.
I’m lost in a haze and barely even feel it as Tristan scoops me up and deposits me at the top of the bed, my head cradled on my pile of soft pillows. He holds me close and peppers my jaw, neck, and face with kisses.
“I want to do that every day for the rest of my life,” he breathes, slotting his hips between my legs. I feel the heavy length of his cock nudging at my sensitive pussy, and I roll my hips to greet it. Tristan shudders and sucks in a sharp gasp.
“I want you so bad, Demi.”
“You have me,” I reply, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, scraping my teeth along his earlobe. “Now take me.”
Tristan’s eyes are on mine as he notches himself at my entrance, and I already feel so full; he’s so big, and then he thrusts forward and sinks into me just an inch. I arch my back and gasp. My god, I’ve never felt like this before. Never felt anything like him.
“You okay?” he asks, panting, shaking with restraint, but still somehow finding the care and the willpower to check in.
“You feel so good,” I say .
“You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”
“Tristan,” I say between my teeth. I’m impatient for him now. I need to feel it. I need him to make me feel it. I move a hand to the back of his neck and squeeze, dig my nails in a little. His eyelids flutter in pleasure. “I want you to fuck me.”
He needs no further encouragement or reassurance.
Gripping my calf, he pulls one of my legs up until my ankle rests on his shoulder, and with one powerful thrust, he slams all the way home.
“ Fuuuck ,” both of us groan out at the same time.
Tristan starts to move at a steady pace, pumping into me.
He cups my face, dragging a thumb over my lips, then collars my throat with his big hand and leans down to kiss me.
I chase his tongue with mine, reveling in his weight on top of me, and the brutal way he sheaths and unsheaths himself inside of me.
I like his hand on my throat. I like his feral grunting in my ear.
I like the way he smells, the way he tastes.
I like everything about him.
More than like.
“You’re perfect. You feel so good. I don’t think I’m going to last long,” he groans.
“I don’t care.”
“I’m serious. Your pussy feels too good. And it’s been so long. I’m not going to last.”
“There’s nothing I want more than your come,” I rasp, and it’s true. I want it in a glutinous, greedy way. I want to see what his face looks like when he comes, and I want to hear what kind of noises he makes. I want to be the one to make him completely lose it .
“Jesus, fuck, Demi. That’s so fucking hot.
” He reaches between us and presses his thumb to my swollen clit and starts rubbing with that same, perfect pressure and speed he discovered when he was going down on me.
“But I need one more from you first. You can do that, can’t you? You can give me another one.”
Can I? How could I not? The way Tristan touches me makes me feel like I could do anything. Even if I tried, I couldn’t stop myself from coming for him.
He watches me as he angles his hips, and suddenly he is so deep, impossibly deep, and hitting a spot inside me that makes my belly clench and my temperature rise. And— holy shit — when he grinds against that spot, my brain and all my insides turn to liquid fire.
“Right there, baby?” he asks, but I can barely hear him. And I certainly can’t speak because my mouth is full of an ecstatic, low keening that seems to make him move a little faster, a little harder. “Yeah, that’s right. Right there. Fuck, I can feel you tightening around me.”
I’m coming for him. A riot of color explodes behind my eyes, and my entire body is electrified, incandescent, sparking neon. It’s less of an orgasm and more of a cataclysm. An earthquake. A volcanic eruption. Something destructive and purifying all at once.
The orgasm is still rocking through me in unrelenting waves when I hear Tristan say, “Where do you want me to come?”
“Oh, fuck, Tristan,” I moan, because that’s all I can manage.
“I’m close. Shit. You feel so good coming on my cock. Where do you want it, baby? Please, I’m so goddamn close. ”
“Inside,” I gasp. “Inside me.”
His response is a desperate growl that sends another wave of pleasure crashing through me. Tristan’s rhythm falters, and he loses all control, pumping into me with no restraint, unleashing himself in a series of bed-rocking thrusts until he releases a broken cry and spills himself inside of me.
I’m pinned beneath the weight of him as the aftershocks move through me, and we’re both lost in a misty haze of disbelief.
There’s nothing quite like it: the moments between a shared orgasm ending and when the real world starts moving again.
Time has stopped. It’s just him and me and the pulsing, aching satisfaction of having just ruined each other completely.
Tristan collapses, still inside me, and rests his head on my breasts. I can feel the sweat in his hair, and I’m sure he can feel my racing heart against his cheek. I kiss the top of his head, and in response, he kisses the valley between my tits.
“Was it everything you imagined?” I ask with a grin.
“No, it was nothing like I imagined,” he says. “It was better. So much better.”