Chapter 18 #2
He pushes my pants down, sweeping big hands down my thighs as he looks up at me and smiles. When I met him, I said he was one of the two or three best-looking people I’d ever met, but I was wrong.
He’s the single best-looking man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
It’s more than his looks though. It’s the way he smiles. His eyes go so glossy when it happens that it almost looks like he’s going to cry. It looks like he feels every smile deeply, like it costs him somehow. Like he means it more than other people do.
“This is very pretty,” he says, and for a second I think he means me, but when I look down I see that he’s talking about my erection.
He wraps his hand around my length and strokes a few times. I gasp the first time, hiss the second. I groan from the exquisite perfection of the pressure he uses the third and fourth time.
He looks up at me, eyes meeting mine before tracking slowly downward.
They pause on my lips, my jaw, my throat, and finally, my chest. It takes a moment, but I quickly realize what he’s doing.
He’s reading me. He’s reading my eyes for desire.
My jaw for signs of tension. My throat for the speed of my pulse and my chest for uneven breathing.
All of it means something to him. All of it tells him a story. The story of me, and the things I want. The story of me, and the things that make me feel good.
He strokes my dick firmly, and when he gets to the head, he releases it, curling his fingers and stroking the underside of my shaft with the back of his hand.
It’s an infuriatingly light touch.
An infuriatingly perfect touch.
A touch that’s designed to separate my mind from my body. Or maybe it’s a touch that’s designed to make my mind and body merge to become one.
That hand, the one that just stroked me, reaches down and fondles my balls, tugging them gently, forcing me to take the half-step required to make my dick come into contact with his lips.
I know what’s going to happen, and I brace for impact, but it doesn’t help because the lord swallows me down whole, tip to root.
His mouth is like a furnace. A hot, molten chamber made for my dick.
His tongue is soft and surprisingly sweet.
His lips are too. They work in concert to drench me in pleasure.
Like last night, the pleasure he dispenses is other. It’s unusual. There’s no fumbling, no testing, no trying things out. There’s only a base innate knowing of what makes my toes curl and a liberal application of it.
He pulls back and sinks down.
Pulls back.
Sinks down.
Then he adds the perfect, perfect amount of suction.
He does it until I’m mindless, until I’m shuffling from foot to foot, struggling to stay upright. He does it until the smallest, tiniest, most faraway thought forms. No, not a thought exactly, a distant base longing. A desire I haven’t named yet. A desire that isn’t fully formed yet.
He feels it on my skin before it becomes conscious and acts on it faster than sound travels through time. He reaches under my balls, curving his fingers and thrusting two of them into the slick heat of my opening. He finds the place in me that makes lightning crack and attacks it.
My mouth is wide open, my hands clawing at nothing. My orgasm is so close that I’ve been sucked into a vacuum. A before place, where everything’s peaceful and quiet.
My legs shake, and the breath in my lungs begins to tremble. What’s happening to me is more than the usual lull before orgasm. My shaking and trembling far exceeds what’s normal for me. I look around the room blindly to try to work out what’s happening.
Then I look down.
The lord has his lips stretched tightly around me. His eyes are closed. He looks peaceful, almost like he’s praying. The way he moves is subtle, but the sound he’s making is anything but.
The alpha kneeling at my feet with my dick in his mouth is growling.
Lightning strikes on the horizon, and the air around me catches on fire.
The long, low rumble goes through me, winding around me, tightening and causing every cell in my body to implode at once. My eyes slam shut and a loud, piercing wail fills the room.
Shards of purple and gold radiate out from my chest.
Then everything goes hazy and turns black.
When I become aware of my body again, my pants have been neatly pulled up, and I’m sitting, slightly slumped, on a kitchen chair. The alpha who unmanned me is smiling down at me serenely and holding out a glass of water.
I take it, shakily, and bring it to my lips.
“Was that okay?” he asks.
I make a very strange sound, a collection of consonants that couldn’t make up a word, no matter how one arranged them. To make up for that, I smile broadly and offer my best attempt at a thumbs-up.
It does the trick.
“Good,” says the lord, pulling out a chair of his own and sitting. “Glad to hear it. It’s different for me, now that I’m like”—he gestures vaguely in the region of his groin—“this. I can’t feel things like I used to, so I’ll check in with you to make sure you’re happy when we do something new.”
Oh great.
More excellent communication. Just what I need.