From Aleah’s Point of View. . .
Tristan flexes his impressive biceps in a very Achilles-in-Troy way, bringing me back to this alternate reality. I lick my lips as I ponder when I started liking ripped muscles. My gaze drifts downwards. Okay, I almost get whiplash as I fasten onto one particular ripped muscle making its presence known between his legs. I usually gravitate toward the lean, athletic type, but all kinds of new sexy feelings are coursing through me right now as I take in Tristan’s muscular frame.
“I want you too, babe.” Yup, he flexes that muscle too. “My turn.”
I watch him pad toward me. When he’s close enough to touch me, he runs his hands over my body, assessing. His light touch acts like an accelerant on my libido, and I ache to have him inside me as my body responds in its usual wacky way. Troy and I learned early that my clitoral orgasms acted like a fuse blowing open the receptors in my G-spot and other erogenous zones. When Tristan’s finished his assessment, he gives a nod of satisfaction and makes a show of hefting his junk for me.
I lick my lips. I can’t help it. I still can’t get over just how big Tristan is. My body craves his healing essence, and I crave his body. He teases me for several long agonizing moments by sliding his fingers through my hot folds and using my juices to lube his thick shaft. My body almost convulses as he places a hand on my shoulder to anchor me before entering me. His balls slap against my ass cheeks as my vagina stretches around his girth, and he lets out a low moan.
Sexual electricity sears through me, burning away all rational thought. My pussy answers Tristan’s throbbing cock with a few pulses of her own. Having him seated deep within feels right as if he were made for me. I close my eyes so I can focus on Tristan’s touch. Cass’s voice resumes reading our double diary, keeping a steady stream of Troy’s and my love percolating in the background.
“Oh no, you don’t.” Tristan’s low growl makes my eyes snap wide open, switching my focus from the inferno between my legs to his intense gaze. For the first time, I see his genetic similarity to Troy. The same need for connection blazes in his eyes. His essence is open to me, so I know he doesn’t want to expose himself this way, but he’s tenacious and persevering, and like me, he’ll always err on the side of doing the right thing.
“You will look at me. You will know it’s me you’re fucking.” Tristan’s command laces through me, and I’m not sure if it’s magic or our connection that takes hold. Suddenly, though, I can’t do anything but look at him, and oh yes, dear God, I know this is Tristan. I need it to be Tristan. Not Troy. Not Brad Pitt. Tristan.
I look deep into his eyes and let him see that place in my heart housing the tiny part of our connection he wasn’t able to pull back. “I need you… body, mind, and soul.”
“No talking.” His command tells me that even my thoughts scream too loudly for him, so I’ll have to let my body do the talking just like I’d had to do with Troy all those years ago.
I meet his eyes and telegraph my desire for him and him alone. And I let his healing essence soothe some of the dark lust raging through me. As his cock starts a long slow dance with my G-spot, I show him how his fucking is like sipping the smoky-sweet-spice of Mezcal, giving me similar feelings of euphoria and joy.
The restriction of the restraints forces me to use my small muscles to punctuate our empathic conversation. In reality, it’s more of a debate because Tristan’s lust can’t hide his exposed hurt and rejection. But he’s met his match. When it comes to finding ways to share feelings with my body, I’m the queen of debate. As each thrust moves me closer to another powerful orgasm, I parry with a message of my own. “You can run, but you can’t hide, Tristan. You’re part of me now.”
