Page 73 of The Devil’s Feather

I burst into streamers of light and music and lust. Spasming with the force of it, my limbs gave out. He caught me, fingers digging into my hips as he used my ass to jerk himself off. His cock pulsed, and the moan started low in his chest. He thrust once, twice, and cried out. His hips bucked against me, balls slapping my sensitized, stuffed cunt.

My body immediately woke again, tossing me once more into the heights of climax. Rafael met me there. His growing moans buffeted me, overtaking my cries. His turn to spasm, and he roared as he came with the full force of his operatic lungs. Hot cum splashed in my hair and all the way down my back.

The second he released me, I plopped on the bed; a ripe fruit fallen from the tree. He collapsed beside me, panting and holding his taped ribs.

It took three tries to reconnect my brain to my mouth.

Finally, I forced out. “Are you ok?”

Panting, he nodded. The marked expansion and contraction of his chest and abs created a work of performance art I couldn’t tear my eyes away from.

“I overshot my target a bit.” He dipped two fingers into the semen pooling on my back and pressed them into my mouth.

Fucking hell. I sucked his fingers clean, licking away the salty taste of him. He withdrew them, and I moved to kiss him. He stopped me with a finger, hopping off the bed to go into the bathroom. I heard him swish something and spit.

Rafael came back with freshly minty breath and kissed me, slipping his tongue deep into my mouth. I tangled my fingers in his hair and kissed him back with all my might. He carried me, locked in that kiss, all the way into the kitchen.

1 “sLeepwALkeR” – The Pretty Wild

21

WE’RE GONNA NEED A BIGGER BOAT

An industry party invitation was the last thing I expected on a Tuesday night.

“I do not attend many of these wankfests, but this one I could not escape.” Rafael said from the closet. “Forgive me for the last minute plans. Kathy threatened to blacklist me if I skipped out again.”

I blended my eyeshadow. “Kathy must have a lot of clout.” Hard to imagine anyone making this massive, volatile man do anything against his will.

“She knows literally everyone.” He emerged wearing a tuxedo jacket over a black kilt, and I dropped my eyeliner mid-lining. At my expression, he looked down at himself. “What? Too much cultural appropriation? With the way you wrote about kilts, I thought you would like it.”

I blinked, rebooting my brain. “Guh. Sorry, the author’s poorly disguised fetish just made an appearance, and the author wasn’t prepared for how fucking hot it is.”

Rafael laughed, extending his leg to show off his tall boots. “How Victorian of you to get the vapors from a kneecap.”

I snorted. “‘He says as he flexes his ridiculously defined quads’. Better watch out for all the lusty short folks if you’re going out wearing a kilt, you long-legged ho.”

Laughing harder, he slowly lifted the hem of his kilt to expose more of his thigh.

“Whew, stop! I’m gonna pass out.” I stood, dabbing carefully at watering eyes. “You really are my big tiddy goth boyfriend.”

He’d thoughtfully ordered a few dresses for me to choose from since we hadn’t had time to go shopping. The others were more interesting, but Rafael’s lascivious reaction to a simple black silk gown’s plunging neckline sold me on it. Gathers on the bias flattered my boxy waist and made me look taller. Red ombre platform heels took me to just over six feet.

Once upon a time, I’d shrunk myself to keep boyfriends from feeling insecure. I’d even completely stopped wearing heels—not that I was great in them to begin with. Thankfully, I could never bring myself to get rid of these shoes. Never again would I make myself small for a man. Nor would Rafael ask it of me. If anything, I wanted to grow to match his confidence.

Rafael wrapped his arms around my waist from behind and stared at us in the full-length mirror. “You look ravishing.”

I raked my fingers over my scalp in frustration. “Thank you, but I have no idea what to do with my hair.”

He kissed the top of my head. “Do you trust me?”

“With my life?”

“With your hair.”

“I mean, sure.”

Rafael grabbed a brush and some bobby pins from a vanity drawer. He pulled my hair into a low tail, twisted it, and pinned it in place. “There, a chignon is classic.”