Page 33 of Deven and the Dragon
He tore at Fiora’s clothes and Fiora yanked on his. There was Fiora’s throat, as smooth as Deven had imagined. That pulse jumped under his tongue, and Deven lapped at it. Fiora tipped his head back. Collarbones, sharp and jutting, and Deven traced those too, working his way under the top of Fiora’s shirt to find the smooth planes of his chest, and hiding under the linen, the tight bud of a lavender nipple.
Fiora’s thighs clamped around his hips, pulling him down into their cradle. “In me,” Fiora whispered. “Do you want —”
Deven claimed his mouth again, because those words had to taste as sweet as they sounded. They did, and the kiss went on until Deven’s lips were sore and Fiora’s were swollen and crimson-red.
A lamp had been lit on Fiora’s small table, set there by one of the servants after dinner, no doubt, in preparation for Fiora’s return to his room. Its small flame brought out the blue in Fiora’s hair and the gold of his eyes. He gazed up at Deven as if he’d never seen anything more wonderful in his life.
Deven knew he looked much the same, only maybe with a more predatory edge. He’d waited so long. This wasn’t about what he wanted from Fiora, or any plan he’d ever made. This was sheer, hungry want, coursing through every vein and nerve.In me. Deven shuddered and tore open the fastenings on Fiora’s trousers. He felt like he was the beast, violent and rapacious, compressed into a human form.
Fiora’s cock popped out of his trousers, so hard it stood straight up. It was as blue as the rest of him, flushed rosy-purple at the head, and it made Deven’s mouth water.
He curled over and swallowed it down, and Fiora arched up with a desperate cry that echoed off the ceiling, his hands flailing down to grasp at Deven’s hair and shoulder. It only spurred Deven on, and he used every trick he knew with his tongue and his throat and the motion of his head. Fiora shook, and moaned, and spilled down Deven’s throat.
Deven licked him clean and lifted his spinning head. Fiora lay sprawled, his head tipped back on the pillow and his chest heaving. He didn’t sweat, Deven realized. Hopefully he wouldn’t be repulsed when Deven did. Deven’s cock was aching, but he ignored it. Fiora had come once; once wasn’t nearly enough. The next time he did, Deven wanted to be close enough to see how Fiora’s eyes widened and his face twisted with pleasure. He wanted to taste it on Fiora’s lips.
He wanted to taste Fiora everywhere, in fact.
Deven tugged Fiora’s trousers and drawers over his hips and worked them down, only to find Fiora still wore his shoes. Deven yanked it all off and tossed the bundle — somewhere else.
In only his loosened shirt, Fiora was debauched enough to make a man mad, all long slim lines and delicious angles. The few curves he possessed were all the sweeter for the contrast: the delicate line of his abdomen, his throat, the slight rounding of his ass.
He slid his hands under Fiora’s body and cupped the small mounds of it, squeezing harder when Fiora gasped and writhed.
Deven buried his face between Fiora’s legs, licking and kissing and sucking with abandon. Behind Fiora’s bollocks he found his target. His tongue traced Fiora’s hole, and that made Fiorawail.
“More of that!” Fiora cried. Deven chuckled against Fiora’s hot flesh, drawing out another cry. He could cater to Fiora’s arrogant, aristocratic orders all day and night if this was what he wanted. “More, please,” Fiora added, still sounding as demanding as before.
Well, Fiora’s wish was his command and all that. Deven kissed the puckered skin, pushed Fiora’s thighs apart, and put his tongue to work. Fiora went wild, and Deven had to hold him down to keep from being flung off the bed.
Fiora didn’t seem to mind that at all, if the way he moaned Deven’s name was any indication, and Deven promised himself he’d explore that further. But later. Much later, because right then, he needed to come inside Fiora’s lovely body before he lost his mind.
“It’s in the bath,” Fiora gasped when Deven looked up, apparently reading Deven’s mind.
Deven had never moved faster in his life.
He was crouched over Fiora again in moments, a little bottle of bath oil in his hand. He didn’t bother asking Fiora if he’d done this before, or how he liked it. If the last few minutes had given him anything, it was confidence that Fiora wouldn’t hesitate to direct him if necessary.
And Deven damn well knew what he was doing. He’d never regretted his extensive experience, but now he was actively grateful for it. He knew he wouldn’t hurt Fiora, and he knew he’d bring him as much pleasure as this act could bring — and anything would have been worth that surety.
“You’re still wearing your pants,” Fiora said with a mischievous little smile that went straight to Deven’s cock. “Take them off.”
Deven blushed and scrambled off the bed again, tossing the rest of his clothes to the floor with abandon. As he turned back to the bed, Fiora’s mouth dropped open, and he licked his lips.
“Lots of oil,” Fiora said, sounding a little choked. “Lots.”
Deven grinned and obeyed. First one finger, kissing Fiora all the while, and then a second, while Fiora’s cock hardened again against his hip. Fiora was hot inside, much hotter than a human, and he whispered his observations to Fiora as he nibbled his neck and curled his fingers, finding just the right spot to have Fiora arching up off the bed.
“I won’t burn you,” Fiora whispered back.
“At this point, I don’t think I care.” Deven withdrew his fingers and settled himself between Fiora’s legs.
The first push was shallow, just the head of Deven’s cock lodged inside that glorious fiery heat. Fiora wrapped his legs around Deven’s back and squeezed.
“So impatient,” Deven murmured, licking along the seam of Fiora’s lips.
“So help me, Deven, if you don’t — ohGod,” he moaned, as Deven did, all at once, sheathing himself in one stroke.
It didn’t take long for either of them. Later, later Deven would take his time and drive them both mad, but he was there already, long since. Hot, silky pressure surrounded him, and he sat back on his heels and thrust up, over and over, until Fiora’s fingers gripped bruises into his forearms and he cried out.
