Chapter 9
Pip
I kissed my way down Aeldryc’s throat. The skin there was warm and taut, tasting of salt and leather, and I could feel his pulse hammering beneath my lips. I followed the line lower, to his collarbone, where the leather of his armor started, and I bit down gently on the muscle above it.
His hands roamed over my body. When he cupped my cock through the jockstrap and squeezed, I nearly came right there.
“Off,” I said against his skin. “This needs to come off. All of it. How does this even work?” I was pulling at the chestplate, at the buckles and straps that held it together.
There were too many layers, too many clasps; it was like trying to unwrap a present designed by someone who never wanted anyone to have fun.
He smirked at me and started on the buckles, but I wasn’t waiting for the armor. I had somewhere else to be.
I slid off the chair and onto my knees, the cold stone a shock I barely registered.
His trousers were a puzzle of small metal buttons on a flap that folded over the front.
My fingers shook as I worked them, the fabric hot with his heat, the hard shape of him a promise beneath my hands.
Each button that popped free was a victory, pulling me closer to a need so sharp it was almost painful.
The last button came free. The flap fell open. And I forgot how to breathe.
He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
I’d seen cocks before. I’d seen them in every imaginable context, and I’d enjoyed most of them—forgotten most of them. His was not forgettable. It was long and thick, flushed dark, curving slightly upward, the kind of cock that made your mouth water on instinct.
I wrapped my hand around the base and he groaned.
I stroked him once, getting the measure of him. His skin was velvet-soft over steel, hot in my fist, and he was watching me with those blown-violet eyes and his chest was heaving. He shoved his fingers through my hair again, letting me know he was ready for my mouth. I let him guide me forward.
I licked the head. Just the tip, a tasting kiss, and his hips jerked.
A full-body twitch that ran through him like electricity.
His fingers tightened in my hair and I heard the iron fittings on his chair hum: a low, resonant vibration that trembled through the metal, which I felt in my knees where they pressed against the stone.
“Seems like you like that,” I murmured, smiling up at him.
“Ignore the metal. Focus on the cock.”
“At your service, Commander.” I winked at him and took him into my mouth.
He was too big to take all the way, at least not right away. I wanted to savor this, wanted to map every inch of him with my tongue before I tried to be a hero. His hand spasmed in my hair as the humming in the iron spread to the fire grate, to the door hinges, to every piece of metal in the room.
His magic was a direct broadcast of just how horny I made him. The thought that my mouth could cause his control to slip lit me up from the inside like a struck match.
I kept my rhythm slow and exploratory, taking him deeper with each stroke, using my hand on what my mouth couldn’t reach yet.
His taste was clean and dark and a little salty.
I watched him as I sucked, looking for the spots that made his hips buck, that made the iron hum louder.
I traced the vein on the underside and he made that delicious, deep sound again.
I was obsessed with that sound, with his cock, with pulling apart a man who held himself together like a knot that had never once been loosened, and making his magic go haywire.
I wanted to live here, between his legs, with this taste on my tongue.
Above me, I heard buckles releasing and leather sliding. The heavy chest plate thunked as it fell to the floor, and I glanced up without letting go of my prize.
Holy shit.
I’d seen glimpses of him around the apartment.
His broad, muscled forearms, his defined collarbones, and the V of skin at his throat.
But this was the whole picture, and it was a goddamn masterwork; broad shoulders carved with muscle, a chest that looked like it had been designed by an artist who really, really understood what gay men wanted, a stomach that was flat and ridged and traced with a line of dark hair that led down to where my mouth was currently occupied.
His skin was pale, almost luminous in the firelight, and there were scars: thin silver lines across his ribs, a starburst on his shoulder, a long diagonal slash across his left pectoral that looked like it should have killed him.
Every single one of them made him more beautiful, because they were evidence that this body had done things, had survived things.
I sucked harder, took him deeper, and his hips rolled forward into my mouth with a restrained power that made my entire body light up. I could feel how much he was holding back and I wanted all of it.
“Pip.” My name, in that wrecked rasp, was enough to drive me over the edge. He pushed me off of him, and I tried to get back to his cock, missing the taste already. “Patience.”
“I have no patience.”
“I’m well aware of your lack of patience.” He stood and kicked off his trousers, then wrapped his hands around my waist and lifted me, and I tangled myself around him like a vine, kissing his throat, his jawline, his lips.
He groaned, tugging at my underwear. “I was trying to get this off of you.” I let him tug at the jockstrap, dropping my legs just long enough to wriggle out of it.
“Happy? Now gimme your cock back.” I stuck my tongue out at him, then used it to lick his cheek, making him laugh. Making Aeldryc laugh was almost as good as making him groan. He walked to the bed with me clinging to him like a baby koala, and crawled across the mattress.
“Honestly, your strength is impressive,” he muttered, as he carefully rolled onto his back without dislodging me.
I sat up, straddling his hips, and smiled down at him.
“You’re forgetting that I dance for a living.
I’m strong in lots of ways you might not expect.
” To demonstrate my dancing skills, I braced my hands on his chest and treated him to a long, sensual hip roll that dragged my cock against his.
I’d intended it as a sexy tease, but the sensation of his hot silky skin against my shaft was delicious enough that I did it again and again, throwing my head back as the slick of our pre-cum combined into a delicious slide.
He spit on his palm and cupped it around both of our shafts, and I threw my head back, losing myself in the tight grip of his fist and the slide of his cock against mine.
The pressure in my balls built and I whimpered, thinking I could come like this, making a mess of his cock and balls, but right when I was on the edge, my voice coming in breathless moans, he let go.
I rutted against him, desperate to feel that pressure again, but it wasn’t enough, and when I raised my eyes to his, they were sparkling with humor.
“You think this is funny? Big mistake.” I spun to straddle his chest before grabbing his cock and stuffing it deep into my mouth.
This angle was better. I could take him deeper from here, the upward curve of him fitting the shape of my throat. He let out a hoarse cry when I forced him deeper than was comfortable.
His hands skimmed over my ass, spreading and massaging it, then down to my balls, and finally, one hand circled my cock, matching the rhythm of my mouth on him: slow, deliberate, and thorough.
When I sucked, he stroked. When I used my tongue, his thumb swept across the head of my cock.
Every stroke of his hand on me answered the pull of my mouth on him, a rhythm that made it impossible to tell where his pleasure ended and mine began.
His free hand explored my balls. Cupped them, rolled them, and I whimpered around him and pressed deeper, writhing on top of him, even though I’d meant to be the one in control.
I took him even deeper, eyes watering as I cut off my airway for a moment, shoving him fully into my throat, desperate to have all of him, then pulled back, choking and sputtering.
His hand skimmed down my spine to the back of my head, pushing me back onto him, and I went eagerly, forcing him impossibly deep.
The iron in the room was singing; the hinges, the grate, and the buckles on his discarded armor.
He was getting close. I could feel it in the tension of his thigh under my head, in the way his hips had started moving in small, controlled thrusts that he was clearly trying to suppress.
The taste of him was stronger now, salt and musk, and I wanted every drop.
Wanted to swallow him whole and keep him there, inside me, part of me, because this was the closest I had ever felt to another person.
With him inside me, I was home, and the only thing on my mind was forcing him deeper.
His hand sped up on my cock. Matching my urgency. We were racing now, chasing it together, and his breathing had gone ragged above me and the iron was screaming and my mouth was full of him and his hand was full of me.
“Pip—”
I sucked hard. Took him as deep as I could and held there, swallowing around him, and he broke.
His entire body locked, every muscle going taut at once.
He came with a sound that was barely human, a groan ripped from the center of him that I felt vibrate through his cock and into my throat.
The iron in the room hit a single, resonant note, like a bell being struck, and every metal object trembled in unison, and I swallowed, choked, and pulled back enough to taste his cum.
His hand didn’t stop. Even through his own orgasm, his fingers kept their rhythm on me, and I was close, and the taste of his cum on my tongue was enough to take me over. He held my body in place as I thrashed on top of him, a desperate, begging wreck.
I came with his softening cock against my lips and his name spilling out of me like a spell.
It shattered through me in waves that started in my balls and radiated outward to every extremity, as my cock spilled long ropes of cum across his stomach and my own.
I collapsed on top of him, sealing the mess between us.
For a long, suspended moment, there was nothing in the world but the pleasure: his hand, his thigh under my cheek, and the quiet hum of iron settling around us.
The fire crackled. The iron fittings finally went still.
His hand, wet with my cum, rested on my hip.
My mouth was swollen. My body was liquid.
My brain was performing a full system reboot and finding that all previous operating parameters had been overwritten.
His free hand started to move, his calloused thumb drawing slow, soothing circles at the base of my spine.
I lay on top of him, a complete mess, and took his soft cock back into my mouth.
He traced slow, lazy circles on my back, massaging me until I was relaxed and limp. My cheek was on his thigh as I suckled him softly, still enjoying the taste of my treat. The fire was warm and the room smelled like woodsmoke and sweat and sex, and I never wanted to leave.