Chapter 6 #3
Yves’s hand whipped up from Rowan’s thigh to crook one elegant finger beneath his chin, forcing his head up to look him in the eye.
“What would you like me to do to you?” His black gaze dipped to Rowan’s lips.
“Anything,” Rowan whispered.
Yves’s lips captured his, their shared breath hot between them as Rowan opened his mouth to accept Yves’s questing tongue.
He kissed Rowan breathless, forcing the dark thoughts of their shared future into the background.
They let themselves sink into the distraction, preferring instead to enjoy the pleasures of each other while they still could.
Before he knew it, his coat lay discarded beside the chair, and Yves’s hands pushed up under the hem of his shirt.
Yves’s cock hardened further beneath Rowan’s ass, and Rowan’s body responded in kind, tenting the skirt in an obvious way.
Before Yves, Rowan had never used to be like this.
Desperate and needy and craving sex all the time.
He wondered if this, too, was the result of some dark, demonic power that had him deliriously in its clutches.
But truly, he didn’t care one bit. He might love his freedom in all ways, but being subject to Yves’s sexual prowess was a kind of freedom in itself.
The act of giving himself wholly to the person he loved, knowing that he could show Yves any side of him, no matter how pathetic, desperate, or lost to desire.
He could surrender himself fully and come out on the other side.
Rowan pushed himself up onto his knees to straddle Yves’s lap, ignoring how the tentacle that was wrapped around his leg slithered over his bare skin.
Yves’s hands wandered from his waist to the hem of his skirt, which pooled around his thighs, still stained with the blood of battle.
Had that been only hours ago? It felt like a lifetime.
Rowan released the ivory buttons at Yves’s collar, exposing a sliver of creamy chest and collarbone.
“So beautiful,” Rowan murmured against his lips, fingers caressing the warm skin.
He determinedly avoided touching the pink scar tissue over his heart.
Sometimes Rowan was fascinated by it. The only mark to have marred Yves’s perfect skin, left by him and him only.
But tonight it only served to remind him of the uncertainty of Yves’s existence.
Yves cupped the curve of Rowan’s bare buttocks beneath the skirt, fingertips pressing to the flared base of the plug.
It pushed deeper, brushing Rowan’s prostate just enough to spark the stirrings of pleasure, but not enough to satisfy.
As he’d gone about his day the plug had ceaselessly reminded him that he belonged to Yves.
Not that he could ever truly forget. It was as much a brand of ownership as the ring on his finger.
And it had been teasing for hours. Building his anticipation. His wanting.
Yves pressed a bit harder, smirking as Rowan whimpered.
“You never answered my question earlier, you know,” Yves said.
“And what is that?” The tentacle snaked up his thigh, delicate suckers dimpling the supple flesh.
“Did you like our little game today?” His fingers pressed again, and Rowan’s hips bucked in surprise as a lightning bolt of pleasure shot up his spine. “I can see you’re quite enjoying it now.”
“I like everything you do,” Rowan replied breathlessly. He fumbled with the laces at the front of Yves’s trousers, impatient now that he’d gotten a taste. He freed Yves’s cock and stroked it once. “Your gift is wonderful, but I prefer the real thing.”
“I must give you what you want then.” Yves twirled the plug, eliciting another moan. “Or shall I play a bit longer?” He twisted the plug back the other way. Another tentacle coiled around Rowan’s other leg.
“Please…” Rowan gasped. The two tentacles constricted and pulled Rowan’s thighs apart quickly, so his knees pressed inside the arms of the chair and his hole clenched around the round sides of the plug.
He imagined Yves’s cum from earlier slicking his insides, keeping him wet for whatever Yves had in store.
Slowly, Yves pulled the plug out, its smooth sides sliding with ease. Rowan shuddered, gripping the front of Yves’s shirt until finally it popped free.
All at once, the emptiness overwhelmed him. The only sound that of the solid silver plug thumping to the floor where Yves dropped it. A thin thread of liquid dribbled out of Rowan’s hole as Yves fingered the rim. His eyes glittered with satisfaction.
“Seems like I was right, my darling. You’re still wet for me.
Your body is begging for it.” The tentacles tugged at Rowan’s legs again, and the tip of Yves’s cock replaced his fingers at Rowan’s entrance.
Rowan’s thighs tensed, aching to sink down and take all of him at once.
To be filled with him and feel Yves’s pulse thrum through his own body.
But the tentacles restricted him, holding him fast.
“Please,” Rowan begged again, his voice strained. Depressing thoughts of death had started to creep in again, and all he wanted was to give himself over to pleasure.
Yves must have heard the desperation in his voice.
Wordlessly, he loosened the tentacles, and Rowan sank down quickly, gasping as Yves’s huge cock penetrated and filled him.
He took the entire length of it in one movement, the only lube the remnants of Yves’s cum.
The only preparation the hours-long stretch of the silver plug.
A twinge of pain raced pleasure through Rowan’s flesh, and his hands fisted tighter in the front of Yves’s shirt. Yves’s hands settled onto Rowan’s thighs again, and his black eyes slid closed, head tilting back to rest on the bloodred velvet.
They stayed like that for a moment, a kind of relief washing over them as if right here, locked together and intertwined, was the only way they could truly be at peace.
Silence and stillness permeated the room, but for their softly labored breaths and the gentle undulations of the shadow tentacles, suspended as if floating beneath the water.
“Back where you belong,” Yves murmured, as if to himself. His eyes remained closed. He seemed so at peace, like being buried deep within Rowan’s insides was the only balm in his troubled life, the only sweet solace.
“Yes,” Rowan agreed. He raised up on his knees again, legs already trembling as Yves’s length slid against his walls. Both of them gasped. Rowan stopped when just the tip was inside. Waiting, he supposed, for Yves to open his eyes and look at him.
They remained closed, Yves’s long lashes, like delicate raven feathers, resting against his high white cheeks. His full lips parted slightly, waited with bated breath for Rowan to take him in again.
When Rowan didn’t move, Yves finally opened his eyes, those obsidian orbs so dark that Rowan could fall into them forever.
Yves’s gaze fixed on him with such pure adoration that for a moment Rowan forgot himself.
His muscles slackened, Yves impaling him quickly again, their hips meeting with a satisfying thwack of flesh.
Hot pleasure tingled through Rowan’s nerves.
Yves caught Rowan’s face between his hands as Rowan slumped forward with a moan.
His eyes searched Rowan’s features, the pad of one thumb brushing over the crisscrossed scars on Rowan’s cheek and the outer corner of his eye that had barely faded with time.
How could such soulless eyes hold such love?
He was looking at Rowan as if he was the beautiful, godlike figure in this relationship, not Yves.