Chapter 3 #3
I laugh. I feel so… so fizzy. It sounds ridiculous, but my whole body is buzzing as if I have a hundred times more energy than usual.
I start to take off my clothes, but my attention fades as I focus on him and the body he’s revealing.
He strips with so much grace and unselfconsciousness, each move easy and fluid.
I’d do the same if I were him, because he’s beautiful.
I saw him naked only a couple of hours ago, but somehow watching his clothes come off one piece at a time makes it feel like I’m seeing him for the first time.
His red-blond hair is loose over his shoulders.
His skin is golden everywhere, the tattoos decorating it with sepia marks.
His abs are defined, and there isn’t a spare inch of skin on him anywhere.
Everything is as tight as a drum. He’s down to just his jeans now, his T-shirt and jumper thrown over a chair.
The denim hangs loose on his narrow hips, showing the beginning of a very enticing V-line.
He looks up. “Am I alone in getting undressed?” he asks plaintively.
I cackle. “No, I’m just enjoying the floor show.”
Just for a second, I think I see those tiny flares in his eyes again. Then I lose my concentration as he deftly unbuttons his jeans. He slides his finger inside and pauses, biting his lip and looking at me from under his eyelashes in a very sultry fashion.
I grin at him, that unexpected energy still zapping, making me feel high.
“I feel I should be raining money,” I tease.
He chuckles and strikes a pose. The laughter is sweet, and when it dies away, I swear I can feel it still sparkling in my veins.
I nod at his jeans. “Take them off,” I whisper.
He pushes them past his hips, and after they slide to the floor, he steps out of them and stands still, letting me look my fill. And god, there’s a lot to look at.
He’s huge and fully erect, his cock reaching his belly button, the crown a dark plum colour and already glistening with precome. There’s a lot of it, and I lick my lips. He fists his shaft, giving it a couple of strokes, and my mouth waters.
“You should be naked,” he says softly.
I give him a rueful smile as I quickly strip off my clothes with a lot less finesse than he did, but my reward is his low groan. “You are beautiful, Cary,” he says in an awed voice.
I look down at myself. I’m slim and pale, and I possess nothing like his looks, but if he thinks I’m beautiful, then that’s fine with me.
His hand is moving lazily on his cock, his eyes hot. I watch the movement and the way the veins stand out in his big hands. There’s the same intriguing flash of gold I glimpsed on the beach, and I cock my head.
“Are you pierced?” I ask huskily.
He nods and gives me a crooked smile. “I like my gold.” There’s a hint of sheepish amusement in his voice, but I can’t concentrate. The want rushing through me is too powerful.
I take two steps away from the broken pottery and drop to my knees.
“I have to taste you,” I whisper. My mouth is watering, and I’m suddenly desperate for him.
More desperate than I’ve ever been in my life.
My breaths are coming in pants, and my hands twitch on my thighs. “Feed it to me,” I whisper.
His eyes are impossibly hot, the gold almost glowing.
He lowers his cock and slides it over my lips.
The mushroom head is thick and glossy with seed, and I swipe my tongue over it.
I don’t know who moans—me or him—but it’s low and desperate.
The taste of him hits me like a bottle rocket, and I see stars.
He’s sweet and salty, and I need more. So much more.
I take his length in my hand—he’s so thick I can barely wrap my palm around him—and then I lower and suck on the head.
The Prince Albert piercing is warm against my tongue, and I flirt around it, tasting salt and metal.
“Cary,” he groans, sounding like he’s been punched.
I moan, barely aware of anything apart from the feel of him—silky smooth over hardness, and that taste.
God, that taste. I suck, feeling the precome in my mouth.
There’s so much of it, and I swallow quickly and keep drawing on it, wanting more.
His hands come down, and he cups my head.
Other men might have forced their way deeper, but his touch is almost reverent.
“To see you like this,” he mutters and then cries out as I take more of him into my mouth.
He’s too big for me to take him fully, but I wrap my hand around his base, squeezing and jerking him off as I suck and swallow frantically. I’ve never been with anyone with so much precome, and I’d never have said I had much of a taste for it. But I love it now. He’s addictive.
I suck harder on the juicy crown and look up at him. I pull off and say huskily, “You can hold my head. I don’t mind.”
He groans long and deep as I take him back in my mouth.
I relax my throat and drop down lower, feeling the head hit the back of my throat, waiting for my gag reflex to kick in.
To my astonishment, it doesn’t, and he’s able to slide down farther.
My eyes widen and water, and his fingers move tenderly, brushing the tears away.
His face is transported and drawn tight with lust.
“Cary,” he says brokenly.
I swallow, watching as he throws his head back and shouts out. The noise echoes around the kitchen, so I do it again.
My own cock is throbbing, and I fist it while sucking.
The pleasure is white-hot in my belly, and I begin to pump myself.
His expression is transported, and when he makes a thick sound, our eyes meet and hold.
He lowers his fingers and traces around my mouth, tracking the stretched skin.
He tugs my lip and moves across the wetness there, touching his cock.
His eyes slide shut for a moment, and when he opens them, his face is hard and wanting.
“You’re taking me so well,” he says hoarsely.
I’m starting to fight for breath, and my eyes widen as he moves his hips, pulling away briefly before tunnelling back into my mouth. It’s controlled, yet still gently forceful, but I’m not afraid. He could hurt me, but he won’t. I know it with an odd certainty.
As if sensing my thoughts, he pushes harder, and I realise with a shock that his cock is almost all the way in with only an inch left.
“Good. So good,” he says brokenly. His eyes are wide. “No one takes me like this. Take it all, elskling.”
The word rings a bell, but my cloudy brain can’t grasp it.
Instead, I open my mouth, relax my throat, and he slides all the way in until my nose hits his groin.
I can feel the crinkly hair of his pubes tickle my mouth and smell a rich, dark scent that’s him at his purest. He’s still watching me in fascination.
My eyes are watering, but I feel no panic. I’m not even fighting for breath anymore. How is that possible?
His face looks as shocked as mine. Then his eyes slide shut, and he groans as if he’s been shot and arches towards me.
My hand leaves my cock, and I clutch his hips.
It makes me feel even more connected to him—as if the desire is a loop between us.
I must be leaving bruises on his skin, but he shows no pain, and I clutch tighter, breathing through my nose and feeling his precome slide silkily down my throat.
He's panting and groaning loudly, sweat dripping down his body, and pride fills me. I did this to him. I’m stirring deep feelings in this beautiful man who lives in this stunning place.
I’m making him shake and moan—entirely at my mercy.
My cock throbs, and I shove into the air, feeling the coolness on my exposed skin. I think I could come from this alone.
I swallow again but then freeze as there’s a sudden pressure at my lips, stretching them even wider. What the hell is that?
Before I can explore further, he pulls out of my mouth. I suck in breath after breath, the sound wet and harsh while he stands over me, fisting his length.
“Come in my mouth,” I whisper. “I need it.”
His fist speeds up, and I spread my legs, jerking my cock as I open my mouth. He squeezes his eyes shut and cries out, and I feel the first gush on my tongue. I swallow hard and then again and again as more come is pumped into my mouth. He hovers over me, panting, and I look up into his eyes.
On me, I think.
His eyes widen as if he’s read my mind. He pumps his cock, and the last spurt hits my face, landing on my lips. I trail my fingers through it and suck them dry, groaning at the taste, and then gasp as he shoves me onto my back and comes down on top of me. His weight feels so good, so right.
“Sigurd?” I whisper as he licks my face, lapping up the stray drops.
I make a protesting noise as he pulls away and then gasp when he immediately grabs my legs and spreads them. He takes my buttocks in his big hands, spreads my cheeks, and licks me.
I scream, the sound high and ecstatic as he again licks across my opening. His tongue is hot and rough, and it abrades the delicate skin in a way that makes my eyes cross. I grab handfuls of his hair and pull him closer, staring at the ceiling blindly and grunting as he pushes his tongue into me.
My eyes widen as he delves farther. Just how long is his fucking tongue?
Then my thoughts fly away as lightning travels down my spine.
His tongue is brushing the nub of my prostate.
I moan helplessly as he does it again and again.
He swats my hand away from my cock and wraps his fingers around it, squeezing.
Then he carries on licking my hole before pulling back to suckle on the rim.
It’s so good and so infuriating—like an itch I’m desperate to scratch.
Too much and yet not enough at the same time.
I can feel the wetness in my arse from his spit, and his grip on my dick is perfect, the calluses on it rough and catching at the delicate skin. How does a writer have such hard hands?
I cry out in protest when he pulls away. He wipes his hand over his face, cleaning the wetness, and we stare at each other. His cheeks are flushed, his mouth swollen, and I’m no better.
“Please.” I writhe on the floor, no pride left. “I need to come, Sigurd.”
He gasps at the sound of his name, his eyes wild. Then he lifts my cock and takes it down his throat in one smooth slide. He moves back enough to growl, “You can pull my hair. Be as rough as you want. I just need your skin on mine.”
I nod frantically and fist my hands in his soft hair, dragging his mouth back onto my cock. He watches me, his eyes heavy-lidded and his throat working. I raise my hips, wanting more and more, and then he slides two fingers into me. He crooks them, rubbing my swollen prostate as he sucks.
It’s game over. I don’t ask him if he minds me coming in his mouth, because somehow, I know he wants it—wants it desperately—and I unload down his throat, spurt after spurt as I force myself up into his mouth and down onto his fingers.
Then he collapses onto me, kissing me wildly and sharing the taste of our spunk between us. Eventually, the kisses lose their wildness, and we lie tangled on the kitchen floor.
I feel stunned. Where did that come from?
One minute we were picking up pieces of broken pottery and the next he was rimming me like a god.
Not that I have any complaints. I feel completely satisfied, my whole body a hum of pleasure, and I laugh out loud.
It’s sudden and surprising, but he just looks up and smiles rather than being offended.
“That was bloody epic. Where have you been all my life?” I say, still chuckling.
His lashes come down, hiding his eyes, and he drops a kiss on my clavicle, licking along the thin skin there.
“You were not born for most of mine,” he says softly.
My brow furrows. “Pardon?” I manage to get out, but the word is thick, and I can feel sleep tugging at me.
“Thank you,” he whispers. “I won’t forget you.”
“What are you thanking me for?” I slur.
“Let go,” he says, and there’s a command in that gentle, accented voice that makes the darkness of sleep instantly wash over me.
I don’t know how long I sleep, but I come awake slowly to the notion that something is strange.
I’m lying in a bed, the sheets warm around me, the mattress firm.
And I can hear words being spoken. I recognise Sigurd’s warm, accented voice, but I can’t understand what he’s saying.
It takes me a few seconds to realise that he’s talking in another language, maybe Norwegian. He sounds as if he’s answering someone.
I force my eyes open, but my sleepiness is immediately shoved away at the sight of the room.
It’s lit by small lights that glow gold, pink, and blue.
They move around, trails of sparks floating behind them.
They seem to be dancing, swirling in the air and leaving the sweet, warm scent of amber and sandalwood behind them.
A glow emanates from the room’s corner, and a thrill of fear passes through me when I see the carvings on the mirror’s frame are illuminated and the glass is milky white again.
Words filled with lyrical beauty drop into the silence, and I see Sigurd. He’s naked and sitting cross-legged on the bed. His hair is loose, trailing down his back in red-blond strands, and even as I watch, the lights hover around him, darting here and there, almost as if they’re playing with him.
“Sigurd?” I say, my voice sleepy and hoarse.
He jerks toward me. “Cary?”
I knuckle my eyes. “What are you doing?”
The lights suddenly blink out all over the room. For a second, the walls seem to glow, and then the room is dark again.
“You know me?” he asks tentatively.
I blink at him. “Yes, you’re Sigurd. Are you okay?”
Even in the dim light, I can see his wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression.
He slowly shakes his head. “I am fine, kjaere.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means beloved to my people.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say slowly.
He reaches out almost hesitantly and touches his fingers gently to my face. His fingers are warm. “Sleep, little one,” he says in a gruff voice.
The room dims further. I struggle against the darkness and realise that I’m in a starlit sea, swimming up from a great depth.
Light is above me, and I kick my feet strongly, launching out of the water with a gasp.
I open my eyes and I’m in Sigurd’s bedroom.
The room is lit only by the faint moonlight coming in through the window.
Sigurd is asleep, turned away from me, his hair flowing over his pillow, his strong back and shoulders relaxed. I can hear his soft, even breaths.
“What a weird dream,” I mumble.
I shiver slightly and inch up next to him. His big body radiates heat like a furnace, and I snuggle in. He stirs slightly and mumbles something in his own language, but he stays asleep, and I feel it tugging me under once more.
Weird dream, I think again, and then fall asleep.