by Briar, Robin
I’m panting for air now. My body is growing hotter with each moment. My dress is a nuisance, but there’s no time for that now. I shove my panties further down instead. Mason leans back and slides them past my knees, smiling in a way that nearly makes me climax. I’m so close to coming.
He kisses my inner thigh and then his mouth finds me once more. I reach down and comb my fingers through his hair. Then my fingers become urgent, gripping his head. He takes the hint. A hint I hadn’t even intended to give. Mason increases the speed of his tongue. No going back now. I’m too close.
My eyes bolt open and the world snaps into focus. I’m looking up into the trees above us. The brown and orange leaves of late summer. The dappled sunspots that grow on the surface. The tiny veins that run through them like a miniature nervous system.
I can see it all with crystal clarity as I come in one long, aching release. The volume of my moan carries high into the trees. I pulse out of myself, drenching his chin.
Mason doesn’t let up. The man has focus, I’ll give him that. He remains attentive to the last tremble of my body. Only then does he wipe his mouth and look up to see how I am doing.
I prop myself up again and look down my body at him.
“You’re very good at that, Mr. Boone,” I say. “Not your first time, then?”
He smiles. “My first time with you.”
I sweep back the hair that fell in his face so I can see him better.
“I might have seen stars if you kept going.”
“Then I should have kept going,” Mason quips. “That would have made me happy.”
“What else makes you happy, I wonder? You’ve piqued my curiosity.”
“Have I? That’s not good.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’d rather satisfy your curiosity than pique it.”
He kneels in front of me, looking down at my nakedness. Taking in the landscape of my body. Then he loosens his bolo necklace. Places it reverentially on the ground beside him with the silver pendant.
Mason pulls his shirt off over his head next and tosses it aside, revealing a broad, top-heavy chest that narrows into a slender waist. His stomach is made for washing clothes, but the biggest surprise is the tattoo on his chest. A circular design… a moon, with a wolf depicted inside. The same Norse design I noticed on his pendant. An exact reproduction, if I’m not mistaken. Apparently he doesn’t go anywhere without this talisman.
Mason reaches for his belt. I stop him, sit up, and dutifully make the task of undressing him my own. Also, I want to prolong this moment. I take my time undoing the loop. I gaze up at him towering over me and let my hands do the work, holding his gaze.
Curls of brunette hair fall into my face. His lips part as he looks down at me. He knows what’s coming. The belt falls open and I lower his zipper. Then, leaning in close, I reach into his jeans, grinning.
He leaps out of his boxers and into my hand. Eager to escape. I stroke the length of him before stealing a peek. Long, like the rest of him.
The head flexes for me, mushrooming in excitement. His balls remain tight against his body. Gods, they’re like an eighteen-year-old’s. No swinging scrotum for Mason. I caress them. He hardens even more in my firm grip. Now it’s my turn.
I bend down and suck on his throbbing, blood-filled rod. I circle his stem with my tongue. Dart my lips over the peak. Mason inhales sharply, which I love. The inability to control his breathing. This should be memorable for him as well.
I massage him further down my throat. My panties are still around my ankles. My ass exposed to the river. I pull up the bottom of my dress so he can see more of me.
Even kneeling, Mason is tall. He leans forward and reaches between the cheeks of my ass. He doesn’t even have to stretch. His fingers slide up and down with pressure. I am hot and moist as he throbs in my hand and mouth. Mason feasted on me like a lusty gladiator. I’ll swallow him like a wanton Amazon.
I take him even further into my mouth. He shudders with pleasure, but gently urges me off his length. My lips smack as I withdraw. He doesn’t want to be spent that way. I obey.
Mason guides me to stand up in front of him. He looks up at me and pulls my panties to the ground, where I can step out of them.
That’s when Mason takes me by the waist, brings me in close, and lowers me down on his pinnacle. I straddle his legs, eager to receive him as he bores up inside me. The fit is snug, but feels that much more incredible because of it. Dammit if he’s not perfectly sized for me.
His hands begin to crank my hips. Lifting and dropping my negligible weight. Mason drives into me, colliding with the back of my sheath, but only for an instant. Enough to make me want more. Mason knows what he’s doing. I am in good… no… strike that. I am in excellent hands.
My eyes open and shut slowly, languid with lust. Even so, I reach up and place a hand on his heart. On the tattoo. It clearly means a lot to him.
We aren’t talking, too overcome by each other, too short of breath, but I want to acknowledge the art. To let him know that I saw the design and liked what I saw. Especially during this moment of closeness.
I want Mason to know that I find every part of him thrilling. Not just the part that is fucking me so expertly right now. Here on this late summer day, in this sleepy town, on this grassy knoll, in this forest of wild coyotes.
Mason locks eyes with me as I rise and fall on his lap. He knows what I mean by the gesture. Words don’t need to confirm it. My look is instantly understood, even as the sweat beads on me face. I push against the wolf design. Urge him to lie back. To let me do some of the work.
Mason has been supporting my weight so far. I lean forward, keeping him inside me, and kiss him again. I draw back on his lower lip, let it slip out between mine, and sit up. Now to ride him properly, swiveling my hips in earnest. I hold him between my legs and caress his length like only a woman can. For my pleasure as well.
I reach around for the zipper on my dress and tug it down without losing any rhythm. Then I pull the entire gown up over my head and throw it off behind me.
It floats through the air and down the embankment, landing in the slow-moving river.
I’ll have to get that later. Right now, I’m completely naked except for my bra. I remove that too, and Mason smiles approvingly. Buoyancy hasn’t forsaken me, but it takes a lot of work to keep me this young. A lot of magic.
I lean back on Mason’s root and grab his ankles. He can watch himself disappearing inside me from this angle. He can see my juices spilling onto his crotch. The curve of him rubbing against the inside of me in the best possible way, pushing against the roof of my cavern.
I’m going to come again, and Mason can sense it. He reaches up and places his hand gently on my belly, directly above where he fills me.
That touch. The feel of his rough hands on me. I can’t remember the last time I was this excited by a man. A lover. A source of lust. Perhaps because he’s more than all of those things.
I should be sharing this experience with my mentors. I should be siphoning Mason like I have so many other men before him, tapping into the quicksilver pool. Feeding it. But I don’t for some reason.
I want him all to myself for a change. Another reason for running away from the city. From the coven.
Mason moves his thumb down my belly, pushes the hood aside, and massages my clit even as he drives inside me. He coordinates the gesture with my circling hips.
I lose my breath. My core lurches at being stimulated both from within and without at the same time. I can’t hold back what’s coming. It’s too much. My control is gone. My restraint? Nonexistent. The intensity of my approaching release is otherworldly. There’s no telling how much I will release this time.
Only one thing could make it better, but what are the chances of that happening during our first time together?
4. Trick of the Light
Mason inflates inside of me, veins bulging, rigid with pumping blood. The hardness of him leaves no part of
me empty. I am overstuffed, coming at the same time he does. He splashes inside of me as I pour out of myself.
Columns of slippery cream mingle with waves of honeyed milk. Mason sits up and wraps his arms around my back. Holds me against his chest, riding and thrusting out his pleasure.
That’s when the forest around me ignites with vibrant clarity again. Each blade of grass is alive and thriving. Each huckleberry is overripe and juicy. Each tree is a teeming with life and returning that life to the air.
It’s as if the world was fuzzy until now, but then suddenly, vividly, snapped into focus. I am still bouncing up and down on Mason’s lap when I look down and notice his silver pendant on the ground.
I am drawn to the design as my vision telescopes toward the carved image, magnifying the details. I can see them all, as if looking at it under a microscope. The uneven grooves, the tarnished metal, the canine image. That’s when the wolf on the pendant moves, bays at the moon, howling his pleasure. I must be hallucinating.
No, my imagination is getting the better of me. Mason is howling, not the pendant. Mason is the wolf on his pendant. He’s been gritting his teeth, but now he’s bellowing, overwhelmed as he launches out of himself. That will scare the coyotes away.
Mason’s fingers dig into my back as he sends every last drop up into me. Sharp, but I like it.
His howl spurs my own orgasm to new heights, sustaining the wave I am riding, prodding every last drop out of me. It continues until, like all heightened states, the feeling gradually, inevitably slips away. As does my vision of his pendant.
Mason slumps against me. I give him a moment to collect himself and then lift his face up to meet mine.
“That was unexpected.”
“Meeting you was unexpected. That was incredible. You are amazing.”
I smile down at him. I’m sure my face is aglow with sweat. I know my hair is utterly disheveled.
“I gave as good as I got.”
“I would say you gave better. And then some. Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Will you paint for me?”
That catches me off guard.
“I’ve come to this spot for years, ever since I was a boy. I’ve always wanted to share it with somebody.”
He reaches up and cups the side of my face.
“Now that I have, will you paint it for me?”
A strange request, but not an unappealing one.
“You don’t even know if I’m a good painter. You’ve only seen me copy other paintings.“
“I have no doubt that you can paint your own subject matter with the same mastery as that Rembrandt you were working on.”
“So does that mean you’ll be sticking around for a while?”
I remember what Sylvia told me when I first found out she had a brother. That he’s not the type to stay in one place for very long.
Mason’s gaze drifts to his hand on my cheek. He thinks this over, and then smiles.
“At least long enough for you to finish the painting.”
I’d been commissioned to paint many times, but never right after sex. And certainly not while my patron was inside me. Definitely a first.
If Mason is interested in me, it would seem that it isn’t just for my body. So despite the oddly timed requested, I’m actually flattered.
“I’ll do it. Now be a gentleman and go fetch my dress. It may be heading downriver.”
Mason plants a quick kiss on me and then lifts me off his lap. He scrambles down the embankment and goes in search of my clothing, leaving his pendant beside me. I pick it up and take a closer look at the design.
The wolf is cantering, not howling. I know better than to disregard what I saw, especially the things I can’t explain. I’ve had visions for most of my life. Ever since my first orgasm. There’s always something to them.
Still, I don’t want to talk myself into seeing something I didn’t. I’ll call it a trick of the light for now, but I’m not convinced. If it is some kind of omen, I don’t know what it means yet. My two mentors, Candice and Saffron, from whom I’ve already learned so much, are better at reading signs than I am. I just don’t know if I want to call them yet, which tells me everything I need to know.
I look up to see how Mason is faring. My dress was indeed picked up by the river, but he’s holding it up, triumphant. Naked and completely unselfconscious, but successful.
There’s no telling how long Mason will stick around, but he’s here now. And so long as he keeps calling, I will enjoy the entirety of this boy. Certainly before I start to overthink matters more than I’m already doing. Thinking is for philosophers and poets, after all. Not painters.
The painting is almost done.
I’ve been stalling, and it’s pretty obvious why. Figuring out my lack of motivation is not exactly rocket science.
“At least long enough for you to finish the painting.”
His words.
It’s been a week, which is a long time for me, but I started working on site, standing across the river. I also went back to see the deer carcass while I was there. Morbid of me, I know, but I needed to see it for some reason.
It was stripped by that point, but not alone. There was a coyote carcass as well. The daddy coyote, if I had to guess from the size. Maybe he was injured and the other coyotes turned on him?
I chalk it up to nature taking its course, whether humanity is there to witness it or not.
I’m working on the painting from memory now, giving the image my own personal touch. The sentiment is more important than the reality at this point.
Even so, all I have rendered is a landscape, which isn’t enough. Not for what I have in mind. The painting has been missing something for days now. The final element came to me yesterday. I’m surprised it didn’t occur to me sooner.
A deer drinking from the river in the foreground, oblivious to the world around it. The embankment where Mason and I had sex in the background.
The new detail should be finished before Mason wakes up. He’s been asleep behind me for longer than usual, but I expected that. Planned for it. I made sure he was more exhausted last night than usual.
I’m wearing his button-up shirt. The same one he gave me to wear during our hike back from the river. My dress was saturated. He walked me to my loft apartment that night and left shirtless, heading back through town to his car. Leaving me with his scent. Even if he takes off today, when he sees the finished painting, he isn’t getting this shirt back.
That’s when I hear him yawn behind me, waking up a lot sooner than I was expecting. The band of muscles in his arms and chest pull taut as he stretches. Say what you will about the man, but he has a gorgeous body.
And, of course, he’s smiling. Mason does that when he wakes up. The moment his eyes open, in fact. Before coffee. It’s almost uncivilized, but I do the same thing with my painting.
He’s been coming around for the past week. At first I thought it might be awkward with Sylvia, but if anything she seems pleased that we’re spending so much time together. Delighted, even. I haven’t been invited to family dinners or anything, but there’s definitely an unspoken blessing.
What has changed is that I drained Mason’s lust during sex. Last night was the first time. It’s why he slept in so late, although comparatively, he’s rousing much sooner than most men do. I’m a bit surprised. Nobody has ever bounced back this fast before.
I kept Mason to myself for a week, before I felt guilty about not feeding the quicksilver pool. The reservoir from which Candice, Saffron, and I cast all our spells. His lust could have helped fill the quicksilver pool in that time, but I was still rebelling. I wanted Mason all to myself. I wasn’t ready to share him with my coven yet, through the link we share.
Now my mentors will know I’m sexually active again. It’s my job as Maiden to gather magic, even while I’m abroad. They’ll be pleased I’m contributing again after all this time. The truth is, once it dawned on me how to finish the p
ainting, I realized that Mason probably won’t be around for much longer. I may as well siphon him while I still have the chance.
“Good morning.” I smile back at Mason. I’ve been doing that more too. Smiling. I turn back to the painting, feeling a little self-conscious.
“I wish my shirt was shorter on you,” he says. “It hides too much.”
I keep looking at the canvas. I don’t even have a brush in my hand yet, so I can’t pretend to be painting. He really did wake up earlier than I thought.
“Haven’t you seen enough of me yet?”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Well, I’m almost done.”
“What? With me?” he asks, deliberately misinterpreting me.
“No, silly. With the painting.”
“Already? That was fast.”
“Normally I’d be finished already,” I say over my shoulder with a single raised eyebrow, “but somebody’s been keeping me busy.”
That’s only partially true. I wanted him to distract me and frequently gave in without putting up a fight.
“I’m certain I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says.
I look at back at him over my shoulder. Mason is propped up on his elbows. His stomach muscles ripple for my benefit. He sleeps naked, and the covers have already migrated down to his waist. He kicks them off at night, especially in this heat. I don’t mind in the least.
I turn back to the painting, prying my eyes off his body.
“Well, it only needs two more details. Then you can be done with me and my shut-in ways,” I throw at him.
“I like you and your shut-in ways. I especially like that you don’t mind being shut in with me,” he throws back.
I really don’t. Mason has been an extremely enjoyable houseguest, and not just for the obvious reasons. He went grocery shopping for me once. Mason actually went through my cupboards, made a list of everything that was missing or almost empty, and replaced it.
The most impressive thing? Even when we just hang out at my place, he doesn’t bother me while I’m painting. Oh, he’s stopped me from starting a few times, but won’t break my concentration if I’m doing the work. Not even with idle conversation, unless I engage him first.
