11. Eleven
Eleven
Arne
W atching all the colour drain from his face would have looked comical, but it was the least funny thing I had ever seen. My eyes tracked him closely as he paced my living room.
Being unable to help him sucked. I was used to assisting. It was my job as his captain, his friend, and the dumb guy who knew that it was the worst idea but who was still dying to shove his tongue down his throat again.
Max stood with his back to me for a long moment, his shoulders tense. Then he turned his phone off, flung it down on an armchair, and walked us back to the couch. He clasped my hand in his.
He lowered himself on the cushion next to me and, despite my better judgement and despite what I knew I was supposed to do, I rested my forehead against his sharp cheekbone.
He froze for a few seconds before turning his entire upper body around and wrapping me in a hug.
“What are we doing here?” Raven whispered into my brow.
“I don’t know,” I murmured, my lips moving against his skin with every word.
“Are we drunk?” His breath brushed the shell of my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
“Maybe tipsy, but I don’t think we’ve had enough to use that as an excuse.”
Max exhaled a shuddering breath, rested more of his weight on me, and kissed my temple. “I don’t want an excuse, Arne. I don't need one, either.”
Neither do I.
My arms slid around his waist, bringing me closer to his chest.
Our hearts hammered as we sank into the other’s embrace, finding the ways our bodies fit together. My brow found the perfect resting spot at the curve of his jaw. His upper body was longer than mine, so he could hug me comfortably around the neck. Max’s strong fingers spanned the entirety of my head, and mine slid into his soft curls.
“Please don’t turn into a bird now, okay?” I mumbled, holding him a little tighter.
Silent laughter shook his body.
“In terms of dates, this is actually one of the best I’ve ever had.” He crowed with laughter, then cringed away from me, bringing a few inches of space between us.
“Sorry. I know it’s not a date, and the cawing”—he waved his hand in the air as if to shoo away a flock of bothersome birds—“happens every now and again.”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged, trying not to let on how much I hated the distance between us. “It feels like a date to me. We had a pleasant conversation and a couple of beers. We’re cuddling.” Heat spread across my cheeks.
Crap.
“I like the cuddles.” The smile was audible in Max’s voice as he looked at me from under his dark lashes.
“Me too. Can we…”
“Cuddle some more,” he finished my sentence and held his arms out to me.
In my eagerness to get closer, I somehow collapsed and landed on top of him. Our heads bumped together rather violently.
“Oh shit, Max! I’m so sorry,” I rambled, struggling to get up and inspect his forehead to see if I had hurt him. “Are you—”
The hands cupping my cheeks and the warm mouth slanting over mine stopped me in my tracks.
This is a bad idea.
My inner voice tried to reason with my body and my heart.
Screw your morals , they quipped back, as my fingers dug into his hair and pulled his lips closer.
We opened for each other simultaneously, tongues meeting in the middle.
Max tasted of the winter sky, of the first snowflakes tumbling down to earth and blanketing everything in their ethereal beauty, and of something exciting I had never tasted before.
Magic?
It was then that I directed my attention to the body sprawled out under me, our legs tangled, his calf hooked over mine. I could make out the unmistakable sensation of a hard dick pressed to my hip.
Shifting to get our bodies aligned, I rubbed myself on him. I wasn’t proud of it, but I was desperate for some friction. A soft sigh escaped me when an unfamiliar taste suddenly burst like bubbles on my tongue.
A waving mass of darkness and feathers cocooned us, it was there one moment and gone the next.
I whimpered against his lips and forced myself to break our kiss. His fingers darted over my forehead.
“Are you okay?” Max palmed my cheeks, scrutinising me intently.
“I am…” My hoarse voice showed how turned on I was, and I hated myself for it.
This is so weird and new, and I only think with my cock!
I tried to sit up, but Max held onto me, keeping me in place on his chest.
“No,” he whispered and kissed my brow. “Stay. Please. I’m sorry, I know the Nachtkrapp can be a bit much.”
Doing as he asked wasn’t my proudest moment.
“The Nachtkrapp. That’s the guy with the beak, right?” I said, distracted by how badly I wanted his kiss again.
“Yeah.” He hummed, brushing the hair off my face. “And the one with the shadow tentacles.”
“The what?” I asked, a soft moan escaping me when he ran a hand up my back and over my shoulder.
No, not a hand. One hand stroked my face while the other splayed across my shoulder. A shadowy limb appeared in my field of vision.
So that’s what it was.
“Do they scare you?” he asked me as it trailed over my throat.
“No.”
Another tentacle joined the first. It curled around my earlobe, and I felt a jolt of heat.
“I’m glad they don’t,” he murmured, as if speaking too loud might scare them off.
It was so fucking good to be touched like that.
I returned to his mouth, conquering him in a slow kiss I hoped he felt in his bones. I’d always prided myself on being a good kisser.
This old dog has some tricks up his sleeve, too, Raven.
Just because he was a guy didn’t mean he wouldn’t appreciate a proper kiss. Or so I hoped. This was uncharted territory for me.
That’s never stopped me.
I nipped his bottom lip and dragged it between my teeth before licking my tongue over it, soothing the sting.
Max groaned when my tongue sneaked into his mouth to stroke his. The kiss turned fiercer and filthier. Feather-covered fingers dug into my back muscles and narrow hips thrust up against mine.
Fuck yes.
I’d found frotting on a list of sex practices for guys, feeling only a little embarrassed that I, as a thirty-two-year-old dude, needed a freaking list to figure out how to be intimate with someone with a dick. The insert-dick-into-available-holes thing was self-explanatory. I liked anal but had only ever been on the giving end before.
The idea of him inside me intrigued me a little more than I’d expected.
Okay, stop overthinking this shit. Focus on the raven at hand.
I rolled my hips, just to see how it felt.
For science. Oh fuuuck.
Our dicks slid against each other, the hard ridge in his chic black trousers bumpy against mine.
I’ve been curious about your special features for a while now, Raven.
“Oh, God. Do that again, baby!” His hands followed the curve of my spine, palming my ass and moving my body up.
Yeah, frotting is definitely a win in my book.
“Fuck, Max. That feels fantastic.”
Our eyes met, his bottomless eyes brimming with swirling shadows.
“Mm, you like that, Viking? Getting yourself off on my body?”
Do I?
“Yes,” I gasped before my brain was done thinking.
Max hummed again, taking a firmer hold of my ass, and ground our dicks together.
Oh shit, he’s going to make me come in my boxers.
“Yes, I am, Viking. You’ll cream those sexy white boxers for me.”
“Oh, fuck!”
He guided me through it, catching my moans and swallowing them down, his tongue in my mouth and those tentacles adding a layer of pleasure I had not foreseen.
“I—”
“Yes, come for me, Arne!” he commanded.
“Oh my God, Max!” I whimpered, drenching my boxers in my cum. The force of my orgasm blinded me for a moment, and I buried myself in his body, needing an anchor.
“Shh, Arne.” Max pulled me closer to his chest, pecking a hundred kisses on my forehead. “So gorgeous, Viking. Such a good boy for me.”
I shuddered, in part because coming in my boxers wasn’t the best thing, but mostly because… fuck me. Him calling me ‘a good boy’ was so hot.