Page 28 of Captive Mate
This was a lie. His tongue, teasing behind my balls and carefully seeking out my hole, was a lie. The huff of his breath on the inner curve of my cheek was a lie. And when he let go of me for a moment to shove my jeans off of my feet and then slide his hands down my thighs and push my knees apart, that was a lie too, because he wasn’t rough, and he wasn’t demanding.
He was gentle and inexorable, like this was something that had to be done. Something we both needed.
I dared to crack my eyes open. His hair was wildly tousled from my hands. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were pure gold now, without a trace of blue. Somehow he was keeping the rest of his shift in check. I wasn’t; I could feel my own teeth lengthening and sharpening.
Matthew bent again and put his face between my legs. I’d only had a guy do this once before, and it hadn’t been very good: perfunctory, and we were both drunk.
This was different. Matthew ate me out like there’d be an AP exam on it later, swirling his tongue in circles and then prodding at my hole, kissing and licking and treating me like a French delicacy made by a famous chef, something to be savored as slowly as possible.
The pleasure of it burrowed into the core of me and sent out concentric ripples of sensation through my belly and my hips and my legs and my chest, expanding and contracting and overwhelming me. My cock was hard again. It hardly mattered. All that mattered was that Matthewnever stopped doing that.
I arched into his mouth and took hold of his hair again, pressing him into me.
And then I froze. He was an alpha. I was trying to direct him, I wasn’t passive enough and he was going to flip out on me — but he didn’t. He went where I pushed him, muttering something against my wet flesh that sounded like, “Fuck, Arik, you taste so fucking good.”
I was groaning and thrashing by the time he slipped a finger inside.
I’d been right. His skin did feel even better inside my body than out. He found my prostate and worked it without stopping, his tongue still circling around, tracing my rim and pushing in next to his finger.
Gods, I was going to come again, and I hadn’t even gotten fucked yet. I started to tighten around him, all my muscles seizing with the first wave of an orgasm I knew was going to be even more powerful than the last.
Abruptly, Matthew slipped his finger out of me and sat up, letting go of me to tear at the fastenings of his own jeans. “I can’t fuck you. I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep from knotting you,” he said hoarsely. I opened my mouth to protest, like a fucking idiot, to take back everything I’d said. I needed him. I wanted his knot like I wanted to keep breathing, my hole so wet and ready and eager for him. He cut me off, saying, “We’ll do it like this.”
He winced as he tugged his cock out from where it’d been trapped down the side of his jeans and fell on me, taking both of us in hand and squeezing hard enough to make my eyes roll back in my head.
All right. We’d do it like that. I thrust up against him, pushed one of my own hands between us to grasp the base of his erection, and wrapped my legs around his waist.
My cock was pretty big; his was huge. Even his large hand couldn’t quite get around both of them. The friction still sent me into the stratosphere. I couldn’t get my fingers around the base of his cock, and I moaned, imagining that thickness stretching me open.
That was it, and I went over the edge like a runaway freight train.
Matthew shuddered and came, groaning, his head falling forward to hang between his shoulders. Come spattered my chest and ran down over our hands.
I lay gasping, covered in our mingled come, unable to move a muscle. Maybe I’d never move again. Maybe I’d just stay there until Matthew recovered enough to knot me after all.
He let go and fell over onto his back beside me, crossways across the bed, like someone had knocked him over the head with a sledgehammer. The bed jounced and creaked, and then the room was still. I listened to his breathing slowly calm and grow deep and even.
Was he asleep? I took a careful look from under my lashes. He was smiling, and my own lips curved in response. I was so glad his eyes were closed, and even more glad there wasn’t a mirror to show me how fond and stupid I must’ve looked. It had to be pheromones. Hormones. Whatever-mones. Something other than the helpless welling of affection that had spilled over into my expression.
I needed him to be asleep. I couldn’t have whatever conversation he might initiate, and for that matter…I was afraid of what I might say, cast adrift on a sticky, loose, post-coital sea and barely able to categorize my own thoughts, let alone express them without humiliating myself or giving too much away.
Nate’s spell was still working, now that I could take a second to check on it, but it seemed to have weakened a little. Maybe Nate was asleep. At the very least, he was farther away and not focusing on it as closely.
Cautiously, making sure not to attract Nate’s attention, I drew a little bit of power and nudged Matthew into unconsciousness. It didn’t hurt him. I found that right at that moment, the last thing I wanted to do was hurt him. But it did give me a little breathing room.
I sat up, propping myself on shaky arms. Matthew didn’t stir. He let out a soft snore, still smiling, and stayed completely out. His broad chest rose and fell, and his arms lay at his sides, one hand extended a little bit toward me like he wanted me to set mine in it.
He was dead to the world.
Well. Now I had time to think undisturbed. And I wasn’t sure that was a good thing after all.
Chapter 11
Cats Always Land on Their Feet
Thinking started with taking a shower. Matthew wasn’t waking up for a while, and my skin was crawling with the sensation of filthiness. Washing off Matthew’s come was priority one. It felt like he’d marked me as his, and I didn’t know what to do with the mix of reflexive horror — I didn’t belong to anyone, dammit! — and arousal that left me with.
Once I’d washed, extensively and thoroughly, it still felt like he’d marked me, like physically removing the evidence of how he’d had me wasn’t close to enough.
