Page 10 of Caroled
But he had broad shoulders and thick muscles. His feathers and hair shone like faceted obsidian. Every inch of his body spoke of vitality, of strength, of power… and yet also of need. The many years of abuse he’d suffered had shattered him, and every one of those breaks showed as he stood there. But the cracks had been repaired, leaving him all the more remarkable. All the more desirable.
Tenrael was magnificent. Nobody would deny that. But as he lifted his head and settled his fiery gaze on Charles, and when his mouth curled into a wide smile, hewasbeautiful to Charles. Beautiful enough to make his head spin and his chest feel tight.
And Tenrael was his to have, to hold. To command.
Still fully clothed, Charles sat on the edge of the bed. “Stroke yourself.” His voice came out shockingly hoarse.
Tenrael obeyed, his movements unhurried and his eyes never changing their steady focus on Charles’s face. Apart from his hand, most of his body remained still—except his wings, which slowly fanned the air, wafting the scents of chocolate and salt air and sex toward Charles and the bed.
Sometimes at home, Charles used instruments on Tenrael: ropes, paddles, floggers. An extremely sharp pen knife. A burning candle. It was Tenrael himself who would suggest a new toy, his smile wicked. But Charles didn’t need any of those tangible items. There was much to be said for a firm tone and for the will to keep Tenrael waiting, perched on the edge as he was now but not given permission to leap.
Just watching was torture for Charles too, however, and eventually he crooked his finger. As soon as Tenrael was within reach, Charles grabbed his hips, tugged him close, and swallowed his cock. Tenrael’s choked cry was a bountiful reward.
Tenrael tasted bittersweet, like the salad greens Charles’s mother would douse with sugar water so he would eat them. Tenrael was a feast, and sometimes Charles wondered if he could live off the demon’s fluids entirely—his blood, his sweat, his spend—as if Charles were a very peculiar sort of vampire. Even better than the taste, however, were the sounds Tenrael made: heavy breaths, swallowed groans, long sighs, and when Charles scraped his teeth along sensitive flesh, whimpers and half-voiced encouragements.
Charles dug his nails into the skin of Tenrael’s ass, making him press back into the pain so Charles could catch his breath.
And then Charles needed more, so he jumped to his feet and attacked Tenrael’s nipples, alternately biting and sucking while Tenrael rutted against Charles’s belly and brushed feathers against Charles’s bare forearms.
“I am yours, Master. Whatever you need.” Tenrael added something in what might have been Swahili and then recited what sounded like a poem in… Korean?
Whatever I need.Suddenly, that meant skin against skin. Charles pushed Tenrael away, but only so he could slip out of his own clothing. Charles’s skin, always cool to the touch, was pearl-white no matter how much sun he got. Tenrael, who had excellent night vision, said Charles glowed in the darkness. Unlike Tenrael, Charles had a navel, but neither of them had any body hair, including whiskers. Charles was usually embarrassed by his oddities and by his frame, which was tall and bony. But not around Tenrael. With every look, every touch, Tenrael made it clear that he adored Charles just as he was.
Charles shoved Tenrael back onto the mattress and threw himself on top. All the better for licking and nibbling, for scratching, for making Tenrael writhe and buck and beg. Suffering like this, Tenrael was even more beautiful.
When Charles’s cock was so hard it hurt and he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take, Tenrael gasped and bent his knees. “Fuck me, Master. Please.”
And Charles did. Suddenly, and without lube, because that way Tenrael would burn, and they both wanted that. Deeply enough for Charles to feel the heat from Tenrael’s core sinking into him, and hard enough to make the headboard thunk against the wall. Fast and vicious and, oh, so good.
Charles had slept with men before he met Tenrael. He’d even had brief relationships with a couple of them. They had been pleasant fellows, fun for a tumble and easily put off by vague lies about the two long pink scars on Charles’s back. But none of them were demons, and none of them were his. Charles had maintained close control of himself with those men. He could never be fully himself.
Not as he could with Tenrael.
He could tell that Ten was close to climaxing because he forgot himself a little and clawed at Charles’s back while moaning phrases in a dozen languages. Then he settled on a single English word: “Master. Master. Master.”
“Tenrael, come.”
And Tenrael did, with a roar that might have startled neighboring hotel guests. Not that Charles cared, especially since a few thrusts later he roared too as he fell apart in jagged bliss.
Afterwards, with the blankets pulled up around them, Tenrael curled against Charles’s back and tenderly kissed just below his nape. “Master.” This time he said it with a contented sigh.
“Ten.”
“Dinner?”
“Nap first.”
Tenrael snuggled closer. “All right.”
If someone put a gun to Charles’s head, he might admit that this—the sleepy cuddling in the aftermath—was as good as the sex.
“Charles?” Although Charles had nearly dozed off, he became alert at Tenrael’s rare use of his name. “I need you too. You know that, yes?”
“Yes.”
Maybe his reply lacked conviction, because Tenrael squeezed him tightly. “I do. After you freed me from that carnival, I could have gone anywhere. Except I could not. I was too damaged.”
“Those fuckers.” They’d been entirely human, motivated by greed and lust and cruelty. Even before then Charles had known that no demon, no vampire, no other uncanny creature had as much capacity for harm as did Homo sapiens.
