Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
ROONEY
I’m sitting on the edge of the stage, watching my feet swing, when Shard finally seeks me out. “I was wondering how long it’d take you to crack,” I say with a wry smile, which grows when his expression twitches in what’s almost a pout.
“I assumed you needed some time to think.”
Shrugging, I allow, “Maybe,” and give him nothing else.
Shard sighs. “Rooney—”
I jump to my feet, taking several steps backward toward the pole.
“Come here.” The stage is a bit tacky from being mopped, which is better than other reasons the black surface might be damp.
Shard, the show-off, shrugs his suit jacket off, then rolls the sleeves of his white button-up shirt above his elbows.
I lean against the pole, supporting myself with one arm above my head and the other at the small of my back, and do my best not to drool at the strong contours of his forearms.
It may or may not be creepy that this inter-dimensional being was so obsessed with me that he invaded my mind and recreated himself as the man of my dreams, but I’m having trouble being angry about it.
Especially when he blurs just slightly, going from standing on the floor to a soft blue mist that stings my eyes.
When I’ve blinked it away, Shard is standing in front of me.
I don’t move, don’t speak, and when he extends one of his beautiful hands toward me, I don’t push him away.
Shard cradles my cheek, then steps close enough to drop a kiss on my forehead.
The sensation makes my skin crawl—not because it’s unwelcome, but rather, I don’t know what to do with the intimacy.
Face warming, I give him a shove, groaning when all that meets me is a rock-hard abdomen. Shard takes a step back, obligingly. I yank my phone out from the pocket of my hoodie, which I’d tucked myself into before slipping out of the dressing room while Shard was… busy.
To put us on even ground, I throw my hoodie aside, leaving me in nothing but my little red shorts.
The makeup I put over my top scars has faded, rubbed off by friction and sweat.
I’m sure my eyeshadow is a smudged mess.
And yet as I lift my foot, catching it and bending in a slow stretch, Shard watches me like I’ve just got done hanging the moon.
Still standing on one leg, I open my phone and pull up a music app, clicking shuffle on my Dance Practice playlist. Then I jack the volume up all the way and toss it onto my hoodie.
“Dance with me,” I order.
Without pausing, not even half a second to consider what I’ve said, Shard crowds me against the pole, taking my hips in his big hands and squeezing.
“Just tell me what to do,” he murmurs, and gods if that’s not the sexiest thing. I never get to tell people what to do, not in a context where they actually listen.
I ease into the moment, swishing my hips until Shard’s grip softens, allowing me to move without breaking contact.
Experimenting, I take his hand and wind around the pole on my tip-toes, then teach him how to turn me—once, twice.
He perfects it quickly. My phone speaker isn’t very loud, but the large, empty room amplifies the sound, kissing the outline of each note with haunting shred of echo.
When I take my first spin around the pole, I expect Shard to move out of my way, but he doesn’t.
No, his skin ripples, and translucent blue windows open on his torso, so my legs pass right through him when I come around.
I’m not sure if it amazes me or makes me nauseous—bit of both, maybe, but I’m determined not to get sick, so I stick with awe.
Something occurs to me, so as I flip upside down on the pole and drop my legs into the splits while holding myself by just upper arm strength, I ask, “What do I taste like?”
Shard blinks in surprise, and says, “I don’t know.”
I frown. “Why the hell not? If you’re so into me, why haven’t you— How do you know what—”
The pole stops its slow spin when Shard cups my cheek. He kisses my chin, then nuzzles his stubbled cheek against my smooth one. “I already told you, didn’t I? You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever witnessed. If I taste your soul, I fear it will be the sweetest fragment in all the universe.”
“Okay, and?”
“And what if I take too much?” He shudders. “I have no desire to collect anything from you. You’re already perfect in your whole.”
“That’s so— How can you know, then? That you want me, if you don’t know what I taste like?” I must be going insane demanding a spectral being eat a part of my soul, like I’m demanding a virgin try just the tip, because you won’t know you’ll like it if you don’t try.
Shard grabs my chin. Before my eyes, his oak-brown complexion changes, paling until that comforting riot of blues is visible in his depths. Except this time, I don’t feel settled, I feel…so much more.
“There will never be another being who captivates me like you, Rooney,” he says with an intensity that gives me no choice but to accept what he says as truth.
His white shirt melts away into nothing, exposing more and more blue until there’s nothing left of humanity in Shard’s features, eyes gone supernova-white. Waves of dark hair lengthen, color leaching out until the locks are a celestial white, floating gently around his face, framing his strong jaw.
I’m getting light-headed hanging upside down like this, and without me saying so, Shard grabs my shoulders, brushes his lips over both my eyelids, then pushes me upright.
The pole resumes its lazy spin, bringing me around and around, my lashes fluttering as I fight uncharacteristic dizziness.
It’s like earlier when he was inside me, but opposite: I pass through Shard, and I feel what it’s like to be suspended in space.
Weightless. Iridescent blue tendrils slither from his depths, surrounding me. Cradling me.
“Kiss me,” I demand, trying to hop off the pole, but Shard fists his hand around mine, preventing me from letting go. Then he shocks me by tugging himself upward until our torsos are level, his chin dipping so his lips brush my hair. I try to catch them, but Shard pulls away with a laugh.
“Not yet.”
“Why?” I feel like a child, whining, begging him to give me something other than floating before me while we turn slowly.
“You don’t believe me yet,” Shard says like it’s obvious. “Dance, Rooney.”
So I do. I flip and spin until I’m hot, until my skin is crawling with need, and it’s only then that Shard steps forward, pressing me against the pole with his strong chest against my back.
We still, the only movement my harsh breathing, until Shard weaves his thick fingers through my hair and tugs my head back until my throat is bared.
Then he claims my mouth like it’s always been his.
Something explodes inside my ribcage, guiding my spine into an arch as I open my mouth for more of him.
Shard invades me thoroughly, precise sweeps of his tongue around mine, not feral but deliberate.
As if he’s been planning this for centuries.
Perfecting himself for this moment, so he’d be ready to pour starlight down my throat.
Shard might say I’m a perfect jewel made for him, but he’s wrong: I’m suddenly certain, above all else, that this incredible being melted through thousands of dimensional ripples to find me. Because he was destined to be mine.
I roll my hips back, grinding my ass against him. “Shard,” I whimper in a need-drenched voice. I’m not sure how to ask for what I want, because I’m not typically the guy asking to get fucked. I’m not usually being asked either, people just…do it. But not Shard.
“What do you want?” he purrs, his voice resonant.
Definitely not Shard. He’ll make me beg first before taking something I don’t want to give—although he was determined to give something I didn’t want to take. Protecting me from a world that wants to eat me is, well. Interesting, coming from a being I’ve watched actually eat a person.
“I want… you to eat me. Taste me,” I insist.
Shard laughs. “Back to that?” Then he hums, holding me in place while his fingers creep down the crease of my hip.
I shudder once, then go very still, my breath a hiccuping gasp.
Shard doesn’t make me beg for it, which doesn’t mean he doesn’t tease, one fingertip running up the short length of my dick through the tight spandex.
Cool air rushes between my thighs when Shard nudges them apart, exposing how wet I’ve gotten just from kissing him.
The palm of his other hand curves to squeeze my ass, firm and purposeful, massaging the sore muscle.
I go boneless and slump against him, allowing room for him to slip under the waistband of my shorts.
He strokes the glans of my cock, circling his thumb and rumbling in satisfaction when my hips cant into his grasp.
Then he reaches lower, toward my core, where I’m wet and hot and needy.
“Since you asked so nicely,” he purrs, “I’ll taste you.”
Then he drops to his knees, pulling my shorts down with him.
Fortunately, he doesn’t dematerialize them, just pulls my legs out from each hole while making sure I don’t fall over in my haste to be naked for him.
Once I’m fully exposed, Shard takes a handful of each of my ass cheeks, spreading them to reveal my holes.
The noise he makes is primal, desirous. Neither of us have the wherewithal to hold out any longer: Shard buries his face in my cunt, tonguing inside me with that hot, flexible muscle.
He doesn’t leave an inch of skin neglected, switching to rimming me, tongue circling my ass while his fingers plunge into my depths.
He fucks me hard with them, bites one of my ass cheeks, and makes a wet, pleased sound when I howl like a cat in heat.
I’ve never been on the pant someone’s name train, and I’m still not, but only because I can’t fucking breathe.
Shard forces my back to arch until he can lick the underside of my cock, the tip of his tongue flicking over the too-sensitive tip while the pad of his thumb rubs my asshole, dripping with saliva.
I ride his face, a tangled network of nerve endings in critical condition.
I almost don’t notice when the touches shift from his mouth and hands to…
something else. I look down through teary eyes and see the spectral tendrils wrapping up and down my legs, caressing the inside of my thighs and the back of my knees.
One particularly thick tendril, so bright I can barely look at the fractals exposed by its mass, takes advantage of my amazement, quickly wrapping around both my wrists and pinning them above my head, trapping me against the pole.
Shard stands, melded so close against my back we must be overlapping.
I’m stretched to my limits, hung like a prize at a fair.
He gets a grip on my cock, which barely fills his large hand.
That doesn’t stop him from using his slick palm to jerk me with single-minded focus.
I buck into his hand, chasing the ruthless indulgence he’s given me no choice but to accept.
I cry so loudly I can’t hear myself, a drawn-out yell becoming my whole being.
There is no sound in space, so Shard swallows it up.
He pinches and rubs my nipples, which after top surgery lost most sensation, yet I feel his touch like sparks sending electric shocks to my core.
I squirm, loving the unfamiliar rainbow of physical sensations.
There’s a thick, phallic length pressed in my cleft, but Shard makes no move to put it inside me.
He rocks it between my cheeks, gasping his pleasure as he propels me closer to mine.
We’re racing, I think. Shuttling toward the same black hole, sweet oblivion in sight.
One of his tendrils corkscrews its way into my cunt, stimulating my walls with a textured fullness I can’t describe.
I bear down, putting more pressure on the phallus between my cheeks, feeling Shard’s thrusts pick up in time with his furious jerking of my cock.
“My jewel,” Shard whispers, in my ear, behind my teeth, spilling into my gut and filling me up, an opaque-skinned bubble about to burst, and only the gods know what’s inside.
He doesn’t need to say come for me or anything else, because that’s all I need: The reminder that there’s one person in this fucked-up universe who wants me, and that’s enough.
I come with shattering force, gushing from my cunt as my legs shake in near-painful bliss.
Shard shoves his fingers into my mouth, giving me a taste of myself, feeding the scream back into my being so I lose nothing, even while shaking apart.
Drool spills down my chin as I gag and suck on those fingers, throating them as if they’re his cock, and he responds like my enthusiasm alone is greater than any external stimulation.
“Perfection,” is all I hear, multiple dimensions hissing his words back at me so I can’t escape them any more than I can the hot come that jets against the small of my back, shooting up the curve of my spine and dripping down my cleft.
My legs are wet down to my ankles by the time the crescendo falls.
Shard releases my wrists, and I crumple into his arms the second he’s no longer holding me up. He wobbles supporting my weight, but steadies quickly enough, managing to avoid either of us tumbling to the stage.
“Ah, fuck,” I groan, dropping my temple against his shoulder. “They just cleaned the stage.”
Instead of reacting poorly to my words—that’s the first thing I thought to say?—Shard chuckles. “I assure you, cleaning a defiled stage is well within the realm of my abilities.”
And I’m so exhausted that the only thing I’m able to do is laugh along with him, cradled in the galaxy of his arms.