Page 35 of One Bad Knight

Gatsby’s elbows spread my legs apart, and they easily opened. “I have to taste you. If I don’t, I might die,” he confessed.

With a final dark look of promise and passion, he dipped down and licked me from bottom to top. My head fell back as my fingers tangled in his hair. His slick tongue was everywhere at once, sucking, licking, playing, and when his fingers joined the party, I no longer knew where I was as my hips bucked wildly under him. Only the faint smell of acrylics and clay reminded me I was still on Earth. Every other part of me had been jettisoned to another height.

The pressure started deep at my center and built steadily toward a precipice I’d never reached before. Breathing was no longer an option and my vision turned fuzzy.

Pressing his digits into me, stretching me, heat engulfed every inch of me. He pumped with vigor, pushing my already unsteady emotions to the edge of climax. Strange, wanton sounds came out of my throat as I neared completion.

Gatsby suddenly stopped, retreating from my body. I could have cried, my frustration turned sharp as my inner muscles clenched and pulsated with a painful need.

Then he was there, pushing me onto my back, sliding his body over mine, looking at me with such feeling it caused my gut to clench.

As the tip of his hardness brushed against my greedy opening, Gatsby seemed to have to almost force his words out. “You make me feel like I’m… more. Like I could be the man you think I am.”

“What did you do that was so bad?”

“Shh,” he hushed me, closing his eyes tight. “For this one time, I’m going to let myself forget the bastard I am. In this moment, I’m the man you want me to be. The one in those paintings. Then later I can go back to being the monster I truly am.”

Before I could protest, he pushed inside of me. My knees drew up as I worked to take him. Pain and pleasure battled as he stretched me. But as soon as he was inside, he began a steady thrust and brought me back to the edge of my pleasure.

Even as his hips found a steady rhythm, a hand smoothed the hair back from my face.

“Fuck, princess. I never believed in heaven until I met you.”

I had fallen for a figment of my imagination. Everyone had told me I was crazy. but now my imagination had been turned into flesh once again. And he was here, making love to me with a passionate abandon that exceeded any dream I’d had.

My hands clawed at his back, as if I could make him more real. As if I could keep him from slipping away, even though I knew we were on borrowed time.

Suddenly, all those nights in the institution when I was eleven, with no one but the ghost of a boy with no name to keep me company, were worth it. And with Gatsby pushing into me, covering me, I felt whole for the first time since that week I met him.

His deep thrusts grew more frantic, and a hot fuzz overtook my brain. I never wanted to think again if it meant holding onto this feeling.

Gatsby’s face screwed up and I could tell he was about to come. The very thought sent me hurtling over my own peak. My back lifted off the scratchy carpet as I pressed into him. Our sweaty bodies strained against each other in unison while a flood of heat filled me. My thighs quivered as shoots of pleasure rocketed through me.

A brief panic flitted through my mind as I realized we hadn’t used a condom. Gatsby made me reckless beyond all measure. But the pleasure of my continuing orgasm washed away my senses.

“That’s my princess,” he hummed into my ear as I came down from the high.

In post-coital bliss, I looked up into the eyes of the man who haunted my dreams for over a decade. They held such yearning, such pain, and pure devotion.

He loves you.

I caught the thought in my hand, as soon as it appeared, closing my fingers tightly around it. He’d never say it. He’d never stay. I couldn’t break myself on words he never uttered. I buried that thought in the ground next to all my other dreams.

A line drew between his eyebrows. As if Gatsby could sense my sudden sadness.

With a reassuring half smile, I swallowed over the lump in my throat and pushed away the hair that fell in his eyes.

Footfalls on the steps up to the studio shattered the moment. It was time to return to reality before someone found us.

And there were mere hours left before my gallery show. I wondered how many life-changing things could happen in one day?

14

Gatsby

The gallery show was in full swing. Back in my ill-fitting suit, I made sure to stick to the background, where I could watch. Kat was glorious in her gold dress and high heels. It made her bronze skin glow as if she’d been transformed into some kind of goddess. I knew it wasn’t the dress, though.

It was her art. When she spoke about it, when she painted, Kat lit up with a visible glow of pleasure. It magnetized everyone to her, and I told myself it was enough to feel the edges of that warmth from where I stood.