Chapter 38 #2
He turned from me, trailing heat in his wake, and walked to the end of my body. I followed his every step with my eyes, tracing the curve of his ass and the lines of those long, lean legs.
“All the incubi in the world,” I grumbled, “and I end up with another damn Frenchie. Do you know how long Colette’s been torturing me with this shit? Centuries. Now she’s turned you against me too.”
Zephyr snickered, then bent. Backward. Arching toward me in a perfect back bridge—slow, theatrical, obscene in its grace—and landing with his palms flat on the floor on either side of my hips. His face hovered inches from my cock.
I swallowed as my erection stiffened to full attention.
“Do you understand yet?” he asked, voice low and velvety.
“I think I’ve got the picture.”
He tilted his head, looking impish. No, make that devilish, in the best possible way.
“Good,” he hummed. “Because I’m hungry, Daddy. Can you feed me?”
I ran a hand down my face, already sweating. “For fuck’s sake. You’re turning that word into a goddamn weapon.”
This wasn’t the Zephyr who’d once looked at me like I was his last hope. This wasn’t shy or desperate. This was bold. Teasing. In control, in his element, and thoroughly enjoying the wreck he was making of me.
And hell, it was so much better.
Because this time, it was for him. Not survival. Not obligation. Just… him. Wanting. Choosing. Playing. Loving.
Rather than reply, he opened his mouth and let his tongue loll out. Shiny wet and pink, it was the clearest invitation he could have offered. His eyes never left mine while his expression remained sedate and certain.
He knew I wouldn’t say no. I never had.
A groan rumbled up from deep in my chest. I reached down and shoved at the waistband of my briefs, pushing them low enough to free my cock and balls. My erection sprang up, flushed and straining. A glossy bead of precum slicked the tip.
Zephyr lowered himself with his tongue outstretched until his mouth closed around my crown. I groaned and leaned back, then I watched him descend on me.
His gaze was intense, even now while he made a game of foreplay and chattered at me in his native language.
Sex was sustenance to him, which meant he saw and felt things differently than I did.
Every roll of his tongue, each gluttonous swallow, was proof of that.
It was erotic, intimate, and heady to be used in this way. Utterly consumed.
He was as voracious as ever, hollowing his cheeks, pulling deep and wet while spit spilled down my shaft and soaked the curls at my base. It was messy. Lewd. Beautiful.
I lost track of his eyes as he sank down, swallowing me inch by inch until his face disappeared between my legs. The tight, wet heat of his throat clenched around me, and I stared, watching for the bulge of my cock in his neck as he took me all the way.
He dipped and rose in a steady rhythm, his body curved in a perfect half-moon, arms and legs extended. His hair brushed the backs of my thighs, a soft contrast to the ruthless suction of his mouth.
It was a visual feast, but I wanted more. I wanted to have him. Stretch him open. Fold him in half. I wanted to put bruises on his hips from the force of my grip. Leave marks. Make him mine.
“Mmm…” I hummed, then swallowed roughly. “Beauty?”
He pulled off with a wet pop, still upside down, eyes wide and gleaming with lust.
I stared down at him, breath ragged. “I want to flip you over and fuck you so hard you forget you ever belonged to anyone else.”
His pupils flared, pink lips parted, breath coming fast.
“I want to hear you beg,” I continued. “Not because you’re starving, but because you’re full and still greedy. I want to ruin you and watch you glow after.”
He whimpered, the sound too needy to be innocent, and pressed his cheek to my thigh like he couldn’t quite hold himself up anymore.
“Will you beg for me, baby?” I asked, voice gone low and husky. “Ask for everything and let me give it to you.”
Zephyr looked up at me. A shiver passed through him, and his lips grazed the inside of my thigh before he whispered, “Yes, Daddy.”
It wasn’t coy.
It wasn’t a joke or a taunt.
It was surrender.
Reaching down, I threaded my fingers through his hair. He rested against my leg, lips puffy, chin damp, and face written with pure devotion.
“Take your clothes off,” I said. “Then get on the bed. Spread out for me.”
He unfolded from his bridge and rose to his feet in a single, fluid motion. Then he peeled his crop top over his head to reveal the pale skin and elegant lines of his torso. The shirt dropped to the floor behind him.
With a hook of his fingers and a slow roll of his hips, he shimmied out of his leggings and the thong beneath. Both items slid down his legs into a pooling whisper of fabric. Stepping out of them, he rendered himself bare in the low light.
And then he turned, walking toward the bed with that dancer’s grace, thighs flexing, back muscles shifting. He crawled onto the mattress, then paused at the center and looked back over his shoulder.
I’d reposed long enough.
Standing, I stripped out of my shirt and pants, then yanked my tie completely loose.
I approached where Zephyr had braced himself on hands and knees.
Mounting the mattress, I settled on my heels beside him.
My hand drifted to the small of his back, where I traced a slow path up the line of his spine.
Goosebumps chased my touch, prickling his skin and making the fine hairs stand on end.
I’d done this on our first night together.
Then, it had been an excuse to stall. I hadn’t been sure what the hell I was doing in some stripper’s bedroom, tangled up in lust and longing and buried shame.
I’d wanted him, yes. But not with this certainty.
This ache. This need to memorize him with my hands.
I traced down again, slower this time, dragging my fingers over the shallow ridges of his ribs, then cupping the flare of his hipbone and giving it a squeeze. His next breath hitched, shaky and soft.
“Fuck me, Beck,” he murmured. “Please.”
Always so damn polite.
Leaning in, I pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades.
Then another below the curve of his neck.
My fingers grazed his skin, and I followed the path with my mouth, trailing kisses down his spine, adding nibbles between touches.
I lingered at the dip of his back, teeth scraping lightly, tongue soothing after.
Zephyr’s arms trembled with restraint.
By the time I settled behind him, kneeling between his parted legs, he was vibrating with want. I palmed one cheek, spreading him open, and bent to kiss the curve of it before I let my fingers slip down to his entrance.
He gasped when I touched him, only a brush at first, a teasing pass of my fingertips. Then I pressed in, slow and deliberate, feeding one finger into his heat.
His breath caught.
I worked him open with patient strokes, easing in and out, rubbing against his inner walls until he softened around me.
Then I added a second finger.
I crept over him again, balancing on one arm while my other hand worked inside him. Two fingers angled forward, prodding the spot that made his thighs quiver and cock jerk. Slick soaked my hand as his body responded with helpless enthusiasm.
“Daddy,” he whined, chest heaving, hands fisting in the sheets.
I pumped my hand into him again, scissoring him open wider before feeding a third finger inside.
He stammered a needful plea and shook all over. His body was moving on its own now, thrusting back while I pushed forward, taking everything he could get.
His cock hung heavily beneath him, but he never reached for it. Just submitted while I speared three fingers in and out of his ass in a relentless rhythm.
“Beck, please… I can’t.” The hitch in his voice sent a wave of sensation straight to my groin. “Please,” he repeated while writhing.
He didn’t even know what he was asking for.
Spreading my fingers, I stretched his hole until he moaned. I wanted him sloppy, spent, and sore tomorrow, prancing around in his skintight pants and feeling me with every step. I wanted him to remember this so vividly he got wet at the thought of it, soaked and ready to take me again.
Desire built inside me, and my cock strained.
Every mewling cry from Zephyr made it pulse.
At this rate, I would never be through with him.
I would use his holes and abuse his body until he was so far gone he could say nothing but my name, one worshipful note singing out of his mouth, over and over.
The thought was too much, tempting me too close to release. I pulled out, and Zephyr sagged forward, his face buried in the mattress and his ass in the air. His puckered hole fluttered, shiny with slick that streaked down his thighs.
“Ask me again, baby,” I said. “Tell me what you want.”
He rubbed his face against the sheets before mumbling, “I-I want you to fuck me.”
“Good boy.”
The praise came out guttural, and I sat up straighter behind him. With one hand wrapped around the base of my cock, I lined up and pressed the head against his hole. His hips canted back in silent encouragement.
Rocking forward, I entered him with a smooth, wet glide. He was open, so ready, and I sank deeper than my fingers had reached, sheathing myself inside him with a single thrust.
Zephyr moaned into the blankets, body taut, muscles tensed. Leaning in, I reached for the nape of his neck. My fingers locked around it, and I pulled, easing him upright until his back met my chest.
He gasped as I slid my arm across his collarbones and pinned him to me. From this angle, I could see the side of his face—his lips and eyes clenched shut as he tried to hold himself together.
I held him there with my cock throbbing inside him until he looked out and saw my hand hovering near his mouth, fingers glossy and wet from opening him.
“Suck,” I commanded.
His tongue darted out. The moment it touched my fingers, I thrust them between his lips. At the same time, I drew my hips back and slammed into him.
His body jolted with the force of it, and a sob of ecstasy tore free around my fingers.
It overwhelmed me—his trembling, his whimpers, the feel of his mouth and ass wrapped around me—and I was too far gone to slow down. I pulled back and fucked into him again while he gagged and cried.
He came with a strangled sound, untouched cock spurting across the sheets as his body convulsed against mine. His inner walls spasmed, and my hips stuttered as I buried myself in his tightness and let him milk me dry.
Zephyr’s breath came in shallow bursts, whistling past where my fingers rested at the back of his throat. Slowly, I slid them out and watched a string of spit stretch and break as he gasped.
He was limp in my arms, his chest heaving beneath the press of my arm barred across his collarbones. I didn’t let go. From the way he trembled and how his body sagged, I knew he’d collapse if I did.
So I held him.
I pressed my face to his neck. I nuzzled his damp skin and sweat-soaked hair, then kissed the shell of his ear, the curve of his jaw, and the tender place behind it.
“I love you,” I whispered, voice hoarse and reverent. “My beautiful boy.”