Chapter Eighteen #2
Maybe I was just lonely. Maybe I was losing my mind. It was Quartadae, past time for dinner, but my hunger wasn’t for food, and Ang wouldn’t visit if he was working. I was free to do what I wanted. There was no one to stop me. I headed into the bathroom, stripped off and stepped up to the basin.
I remembered the sensation of pushing inside a body.
The warmth, the wet, the way my hardened flesh felt surrounded by another body.
By the Gods, my blood rushed south almost without encouragement and emptied my brain.
I needed this so much. Taking the throbbing heat of my own flesh in hand, I closed my eyes.
I was already thinking of that tall, athletic body. The smooth skin. Gentling, working with my pulse, I remembered that cascade of black hair, from crown to waist.
My breathing hitched up. I imagined reaching out to touch it, each length like silk between my fingers. My hand contracted and moved faster. The figure in my imagination turned, and the face I had known so long ago, Sasha’s face, was replaced with one I had now known for longer.
“Ang.” The word whispered from me, the rapid stroking taking me where I needed to go.
“Sullivan, are you—”
My hand stilled. My eyes flew open. In the mirror above the basin, I saw him. Ang was standing behind me. Our eyes locked in the mirror. Denying what I’d been doing, denying myself, was no longer possible.
He said nothing as he moved to stand behind me. His head beside mine, and he looked down at my shoulder, at the dark red ferning marks in my dark skin. The mark left when his power passed through me.
“I love these marks on you.” His voice was a hot whisper that caressed my shoulder. “My marks.” Then his fingers moved to trace the outline around my deltoid, along my bicep, skimmed over my elbow, down my forearm. He shifted closer, his silk-covered chest against my bare back.
Our eyes met in the mirror again.
“May I?”
I didn’t know what he was asking to do, but I didn’t care. My heart was beating fit to burst. My rod had never been harder, aching for his attention. Whatever he wanted, he could have.
His lips pressed a hot kiss on my shoulder before his chin moved over, resting on me as he looked down at my erection over the edge of the basin.
I felt his hand on my left wrist tighten a moment, then moved to my waist, holding us together.
The other hand shifted to follow my right hand, smoothing down to lay his fingers over mine, circling the heat of my rod and gently moving my hand up and down.
The groan was pure need, my groan as I tipped my head back. His fingers pushed between mine, touching me more fully. My breathing became rapid. Thought was impossible. I slipped my hand away from beneath his and gave myself over to his ministrations.
His long, talented fingers moulded to my length, caressing me from root to tip.
My breathing was rushing with need, my pulse drowning out all sounds, all thought.
I twisted my neck and pressed my lips to the edge of his jaw.
His thumb massaged over the top of my rod, to caress over the slit as pre-cum bubbled out of me.
His fingers squeezed me, his thumb pressed the underside of my tip.
My hips jerked instinctively. Small circular motions spread my juice around me.
It was sticky and warm, and I wanted to give him so much more.
I could feel the movement of his chest. His own breathing was as affected by our connection as mine. I could feel the heated iron of his hardened cock pressing between my buttocks. My world concentrated on that statement of his desire and the sensation of him stroking along my rod.
His touch was so talented. He stroked my full length, the tips of his fingers traced the path of veins along my rod. They trailed down and collected the weight of my balls. I had never felt a touch so reverent, so gentle as he cupped and squeezed me. By the Gods, I was ready to explode.
His fingers shifted again, circled my length, kneading and soothing.
It felt like forever and not long enough.
Lightning jumped in my veins, jerked in my hips, I cried out and curled forward as I came, spilling my desire all over the sink, the wall, his hand.
I pumped again and again, even when I thought I was completely drained.
More poured from me as he continued stroking my flesh, gently bringing me down from that precipice as I leaned two-handed against the wall, stunned by the sheer volume he had worked out of me.
Gods, it was heaven.
Finally, the spasms subsided. His hand slowed and stopped. I closed my eyes and felt him smooth his hand down to cup my empty balls, a caring caress. The other hand smoothed down my spine. His lips pressed a kiss on my shoulder. Then he stepped back, allowing me time and space to control my breath.
When at last I was myself, I blinked up and looked in the mirror. He was gone.
“Ang?”
I turned and went into my room, into the living space.
I was alone. Truly alone.