Tarot's Touch by L.M. Somerton Page A

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    “Christ, it feels huge. I wish you were here, putting it in me.” He had to stop talking as the slick glass inched into him more easily than he’d expected. He panted softly as his hole stretched to accommodate such an inflexible invader. He shuddered as the flat circle of glass at the back end of the implement settled against his flesh. There was no chance of the thing slipping out. That was certain.
    “It’s in me, Sir. So deep…”
    “Sit on the edge of the bed, clasp your hands behind your back and rock backwards and forwards.” Alex sounded tense, as if he was holding himself back physically.
    Conor swore as his swaying motion pushed the glass inside him against his gland. It wasn’t the same as the friction he got from Alex’s cock, more like an insistent pressure that was inescapable.
    “Fuck!” He spread his legs wider and moaned. “Please, Alex, I need to touch myself. This is torture.” He bit down hard on his lower lip, hoping the pain would distract him from the fire building inside his body.
    “I wish I could see you now, flustered, desperate, begging. I’m so fucking hard just thinking about that thing inside you. I’d love to have you in my mouth, suck you hard and slow, while you feel it stretching you.”
    “Sir, please!” Conor was close to tears, muscles quivering.
    “Very well, my love. Go ahead.”
    Two sharp tugs were all it took. Conor screamed his release as liquid heat spattered his thighs and stomach. He collapsed back on the bed, body limp, heart pounding.
    A cry of relief sounded from the phone.
    “Thank God! I couldn’t have held on much longer!”
    “ You ? Bloody hell, Alex, you aren’t the one sitting on a fucking glass pole!”
    “It sounded like such exquisite agony. I can’t wait to see you do that again when I am actually in the room.”
    “You’ll be lucky!” Conor relaxed and removed the toy, still shocked at how big it really was. He felt sore, in a good way—thoroughly fucked, in fact.
    “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Sleep well, my love. I’m sure your dreams tonight will be special.” Alex sounded smug.
    “Love you. See you tomorrow.”
    Conor ended the call then collapsed back onto the bed. His skin felt overheated and sensitive. His arse ached. He had to move, had to get to the bathroom and get rid of the stickiness that seemed to have gotten everywhere.
    He ran a bath and poured in a big dollop of bubble bath. The foam expanded into little mountains of shiny bubbles, tiny rainbows reflecting in every surface. He lit a couple of candles then stepped into the water. Sinking into the heat had him sighing in contentment. The only thing that would have made the experience better was if Alex had been there with him. He liked nothing more than to lie in warm, scented water with Alex’s firm body supporting him.
    Conor washed with a soft sponge then shampooed his hair. He let his mind drift back to his meeting with Ruby. He had little time for superstition or anything that played on the weakness of vulnerable people. Ruby was an exception. He liked the old biddy. The con artists who abused the cards were a whole different breed but the skills they employed as they plied their dirty trade could easily be extended to a killer—distraction, manipulation, cunning… All traits that the Tarot Killer seemed to have in spades.
    “Distraction is the key here. We’re being led down a path of the killer’s choosing—I can feel it.” He rinsed his hair and it felt strangely symbolic. He needed to flush away the fog that the tarot cards were generating and look past the distraction. When it came down to it, killers were ordinary people with ordinary motivations—greed, jealousy, revenge. These were much more likely to be at the root of the crimes than some psychotic maniac with a penchant for archaic symbolism.
    Conor toweled off and resolved to take a fresh look at the case notes first thing in the morning. If he put aside all the hints and