Page 23 of The Light Within

But Julien’s name slipped out of Cinn’s mouth regardless, and he knew its cadence spoke volumes, a breathy neediness that almost certainly gave any game away.

“Julien,” he whimpered again, his entire body a shaking mess, and Julien’s free hand grabbed his, squeezing their fingers together,hard, hard to the point of pain.

Julien swallowed around his head.

Every muscle tensed as one for a dizzying moment as Cinn’s orgasm crashed into him, flooding through him in a flash, and he erupted into Julien. His lover drank him down, swallowing three times more, and Cinn continued to thrust into Julien’s deliciously warm mouth, riding wave after wave of pleasure.

Cinn only had time to see two dots of pink flush on Julien’s pale cheeks before he melted into the mattress, eyes rolling straight back into his head. As Julien finished him off with the tiniest of gentle kitten licks, he shut his eyes and surrendered to the fuzziness around the edge of his consciousness.

He came around to the sound of Julien spitting.

Propping himself up, he blinked rapidly at the sight of Julien, who’d shed his jeans and underwear, leaving him only in his simple loose white shirt. He kneeled above Cinn, his glorious, long, slender cock in one hand, furiously stroking himself with a glistening mix of cum and saliva.

Julien stared down at Cinn, fierce, primal, possessive.

Cinn made one weak attempt to reach for Julien’s dick, but found his hand being batted away with force.

The sight of Julien towering above him, fisting himself with such vigour, was intoxicating to the point of feeling drugged.

As dawn broke, light further filled the room, throwing a spotlight onto Julien, who shimmered in Cinn’s dreamy haze.

Dressed in white, his golden-haired boy became an angel. A beautiful angel, who became more and more beautiful every time Cinn pulled a layer off him. Each one exposed new depths, a gradual unveiling of a masterpiece hidden beneath layers of paint.

Yes, his princeling was an angel, and this was Cinn’s baptism.

Each wave of his pleasure was a prayer, each cry a hymn of devotion.

“Look at you,” his angel said. “So perfect for me.”

Then, although it was Julien who was bathing his body with thick ropes of warm cum, it was Cinn who unleashed a series of breathy moansand cries as each one hit his torso. Every place Julien’s glory touched his skin anointed him with ecstasy, holy water purifying him.

The bed shifted as Julien climbed up his body, hovering an inch above him to smile at him, smug but softly so. Cinn only had time to blink before Julien swiped his thumb across the sticky mess of Cinn’s chest, then brought it to his mouth, caressing his bottom lip with it. Cinn darted his tongue out to trace its path, then brought Julien’s thumb into his mouth, sucking it once, then reached for Julien’s head, wanting to kiss him again,needingto kiss him again.

The kiss was a frenzy—a smash of mouths, tongues enacting a desperate dance, hands seizing hair. Once they were breathless, Julien pulled away, draping his weight over Cinn, blanketing him.

“I think… you just took me to heaven,” Cinn may have muttered into a pillow, or may have not.

A pause. “What?”

Yes, definitely out loud.

He took a moment to ride out the last of the blissful high, listening to the sound of his breathing calming. Then, he required a different sort of high.

Wrapping a blanket around him, he hopped over several trip hazards on the way to throw open the window. A flick of a lighter later, he was inhaling his first sweet drag, savouring the familiar rush.

He gestured the cigarette towards Julien, who wrinkled his nose. From his position starfishing on the bed, he eyed Cinn with disdain. “Must you smoke inside?”

The cheek!

To make a point, Cinn turned himself away from the window, cigarette in one hand, allowing the smoke to curl around him. “I’m sorry, whose house is this?”

“Auri’s, the last time I checked. Unless it’s Eleanor’s, but I doubt that with those curtains.”

Cinn scoffed, but because he wasn’t a totally inconsiderate ass, resumed his position of leaning over the windowsill. Drizzle dampened his hand. Another rainy day ahead. “So, what’s the plan today?” he asked, because there was no possibility that his agenda—of spending the day alone together, preferably predominantly in this very room—could be manifested.

“Breakfast. Coffee. Darcy’s. I’ve got something to share.”

Of course you do.

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