Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
GOOD AUGUST
HARD SCIENCE
“So, you can just ignore them,” I rush to assure him. “They’re being weird. You know what they’re like. And I wouldn’t ever, um, put that sort of pressure on you. Sex, just so we don’t have to camp out here for a week or two, that’s—”
“August—”
“That’s absurd. The height of absurdity. Who would even think something like that up?”
“August—”
“It was only really, you know, very recently that we were both pretty upset about destroying universes. And I think the ethical considerations are worth probing, deeply, especially when you consider—”
“Slayer?”
My pulse quickens at the word. “Mmhmm?”
He sidles over, coming to lean against the wall next to me, not touching but so close, from our shoulders to our toes, a hair’s breadth away. “We do not have to have sex to destroy and then ultimately save this world.”
I hate that he can see the hot flush on my cheeks. A heady sting of rejection. “No, I know. That’s all I was saying. We don’t have to—”
“But if you want to…”
A delicious elixir of silence drops over us.
Is this really happening?
“Uh…” I respond. Another one of those full sentences I’m so good at whenever he talks to me like this.
His eyes run down my body, and I wonder how well the crease in my jeans is hiding that throb in my cock. Especially when he asks, “Is it bad that I’m not feeling terribly conflicted about this?”
“Define ‘bad.’”
When he tilts his head, his breath tingles across my cheek and down my neck. “Is it bad that I would fuck this world into oblivion for five minutes alone with you?”
“Probably.” My entire body is on fire. “But then you are a supervillain.”
“And you’re a Slayer,” he says. “So where does that leave us?”
“Right about… here.” I lunge for him, his easy compliance like a dream beneath my hands, our lips clashing together, his nicely pressed, stolen shirt getting creased by my own fingers.
Okay, I won’t say we’ve been terribly good at staying apart, or that it’s been a terribly long time since we touched.
But it feels like it. The very ideas of either complete separation or nearness without touch were working in tandem to wear me down.
Even now, throwing my leg across his thigh to straddle him, pulling at the buttons of his shirt, he feels too far away.
It’s a desperate, messy rush to get as much of him as I can, to lock him away in my heart, trapped in that cage where no one can take him away from me.
I get his shirt open, run my hands over his chest, feel the rise and fall of his ribcage as they run around to his back, pulling him closer.
He’s working my sweater off—my hastily flung on sweater from this morning—and again I feel, for a fleeting moment, like I’m on the back foot, not nicely dressed for him.
But when it hits the floor, when he gasps out that perfect sigh at the sight of me…
I feel adored. He looks at me like he worships me.
Like every curve is divine. “You’re beautiful,” he tells me.
And I believe him. What it is to be with someone you can feel gorgeous around.
Every sweep of his tongue over my neck, I arch for him. Every time he presses my nipple, I sigh for him. He loves it. And when he slips his hand into my jeans… I’m already so hard for him.
He groans his appreciation as he sends a tremor through my body, his confident strokes turning me inside out. “You’re delicious.”
He loves my body. He loves sex. He makes me feel so confident. I buck my hips, thrusting into his palm.
“More,” he whispers. He barely needs to say a word.
My body has a mind of its own, desperately seeking his touch—the touch that only August can give me.
I’m sure of it. It’s that magical, world-shaking touch.
And it’s happening again, already, like he trained me for it last time, implanted some seed, something he’s coaxing out of me that I never knew was there.
His tongue lashes against mine, hungry, desperate for me. His hand works me even as I fuck into it. That same vibration runs along my neck, over my shoulders, down to the base of my spine. It’s like every nerve is vibrating with pleasure, boiling up inside me with each thrust.
He bites down on my earlobe, whispering, “I need to taste you.”
I moan in desperate agreement while he kisses his way along my collarbone, but I still protest, “No, let me do it for you. Please.”
He bites me so hard I cry out, then licks the spot where I hope he left his mark. His hand slides out of my jeans, then they both wrap around my hips, and he shoves me back.
There isn’t a thing I’m not prepared for. Literally anything. This man could…
Get up… and walk away from me?
What the actual fuck?
It’s pathetic how needy I am, like he’s got a leash around my neck. I’d heel at his word.
Jesus, why is that suddenly such a hot idea?
But August only flicks the lock on the door, then turns and leans his back against it. His shirt’s open, showing off his smooth stomach, his belt cinched tight, his dick bulging against his nice woollen trousers. “Come here.”
He does not need to ask me twice.
I love the way his eyes drink in every inch of me as I stand, try to walk as seductively as I can, and not at all run to him like the desperate whore I am.
I press an arm to the door above his shoulder, waiting to see what he’ll do.
He takes his time, running an index finger around my right nipple, then down the centre of my chest, watching as it goes, making me shiver all the way down to the button on my jeans.
“Undo it,” he commands me.
I use both hands, undoing the button, unzipping, then I drop my jeans to the floor with my boxers, stepping out, perfectly naked for him.
“You’re magnificent, do you know that?”
“Then you must be too.”
He gives me a smile, a soft kiss, then drops to his knees. My cock is in his mouth before I even find time to brace myself against the door.
He’s not starting slow. He’s got me halfway down his throat, sinking his fingers into the flesh of my ass, wrenching me into him. My hand slides over the oak grain, then I smash it back into the wood, trying to get a grip, to not crumble into him.
The sound of him taking me is pure filth, erotic and delicious, fast and depraved. Sexy as all hell. I wanted him like this. I’ve dreamed about him like this. I’ve come at the thought of him like this. And now it’s happening, and I’m not remotely prepared.
But I know what he wants. He told me on the phone, and there’s no way in this world he’s walking out of this room without getting exactly that.
Fixing one sweaty hand against the door, I lower the other to his hair—his beautiful, thick and dark hair, that until just recently I thought was so much nicer than mine—and I sink my fist in.
The rumble of enjoyment runs from the base of his throat, through my hard cock, pooling in my core. “You like that, don’t you?”
I pull his head back, desperate for a view of him taking me. His eyes slide up to meet mine, and I arch into him, rolling my hips forward. Every minute spent on this body was worth it for the way he watches me. The pure lust in his eyes.
I force my cock a little deeper into his throat. His hand slips down to cup my balls, and I try to smite the pleasure by fucking a little deeper into his mouth.
This actually does nothing to lessen the pleasure.
But I’m hoping if I can just concentrate…
He’s squeezing my balls, pulling my ass cheek wider. I move my hand around the back of his head, and go a little harder. But he only pulls me in again. His mouth is so hot and wet, his head angled so he’s taking me deep, right down his throat. I don’t think I can take this much longer.
Alright.
Time to put on a show for him.
“You’re such a good little cock slut, aren’t you?”
He retches slightly, and I don’t know if that’s laughter or choking on dick, but I’m not about to stop.
“This throat was made for my cock. I’m gonna use it. Abuse it. Stain it and mould it with my dick, so you’ll never take another man again without tasting me.”
A groan rips out of him, the sound mangled by my firm thrusting.
“Take it. Take it all in your perfect mouth. I want you to drink every drop. I want…” My words fall apart as the orgasm hits me hard.
No. Not yet. No. I need to…
Ah, fuck!
Ecstasy slams through me, and August coaxes me into his mouth, curling his fingers under my balls, ripping pleasure out of me that’s beyond words, and beyond explanation. Pleasure so intense I’m still hunched over against the wall when he slides off, stands, then spits into his hand.
My eyes widen, my brain ticking slowly over what he’s about to do, though I already know deep down.
He takes a kiss, my own cum on my own lips, on my own tongue, filthy and satisfying in a way I didn’t know I craved. His spare hand runs around the back of my neck, then he wrenches me, turns me, and with one shove, my chest lands on the sturdy desk.
He kicks my legs apart, then shoves his handful of hot cum between my ass cheeks, entering with two fingers.
“You like giving cock? Now let’s see if you can take it.”
What have I created?
Fuck, I love it so much!
My breath of expletives fills the small space, broken only by the slap of my hands on the heavy varnish, the sound of my own cum being fucked into me by his unrelenting fingers.
Christ, he’s so hot for this. And I’ve never wanted anything so badly.
I hear his belt jangle to the floor, his zip come undone, and I’d kill to see it, how hard he must be for me, throbbing in his urgency to have me. I imagine him stroking it, trying to ease his tension, and failing.
My back arches, begging for him as he opens me, rough and commanding, his other hand digging into the back of my neck, my chest pressed against the hard wood, taking all the pleasure he forces into me.
Then all at once, his hand withdraws. I hear the wet slap of his cum-laden palm running over his big dick.