Page 15 of Kept
Eli hesitated. One heartbeat. Then parted his mouth.
Salt. Heat. Himself. He let Kade take those fingers in, tongue following, pressing, tasting, slick pads dragging over his tastebuds. Gritty callus against soft flesh, slick and alive.
Kade’s eyes darkened as he watched, gold narrowing to a thin, feral ring. There was something pleased in the curve of his mouth, something dangerous and owning that made Eli’s chest tighten and legs tremble.
He drew the fingers out, slow, deliberate.
“Good,” he said. Just that, a single word, and it fell into Eli’s gut like weight, hot and undeniable.
Eli’s breath hitched. Hands clenched the sheets. He hadn’t expected one syllable to carry such heat, such claim. Warmth unfurled low, spreading like fire through muscle and blood.
The wet fingers didn’t return to his cock.
They went lower.
Eli’s body tensed instantly, every nerve screaming on instinct. He’d only ever let himself touch himself in the dark, safe in his own shame, never for someone else. Kade must have felt it—felt the flinch—because his free hand landed heavy and warm on Eli’s thigh, anchoring him, grounding him, demanding stillness.
“Breathe,” Kade said. Rough, low, almost a growl, but not frightening. Commanding. Easy.
Eli forced an exhale, letting go of the tight knot of fear and habit in his throat.
The pressure came slowly, teasing, deliberate. Then the blunt slide of a finger pushed against him, sliding inside.
His breath caught, sharp and uneven. His back arched before he could stop it. The first stretch bit like fire, sharp and undeniable, splitting his brain between panic and fascination.
But then a slow, thick heat began to curl beneath it, pooling low and demanding attention. He had never felt anything like this—vulnerable, exposed, and burning alive all at once.
“That’s it,” Kade murmured, the sound of it claiming him. “Feel me.”
Eli did. He couldn’t not. The weight, the warmth, the slow, impossibly deliberate press—everything about it commanded him. His body clenched instinctively, then loosened, learning the rhythm, learning the permission Kade offered without asking. Heat pooled, tightened, spread, each pulse of sensation sharper than the last.
Kade moved carefully, measured. Every withdrawal, every patient push, gave Eli room to chase it, to learn the pattern. When his hips twitched forward before thought could intervene, Kade matched them, answered them, and drove in deeper.
Another finger.
Eli whimpered, fists clenching the sheet until knuckles whitened. Shock, heat, disbelief—they collided in a riot of sensation he didn’t have words for. His body rocked greedily into Kade’s touch, wanting more even as his mind tried to register what was happening. He’d never wanted anything like this,never even allowed himself to imagine it—and yet here it was, overwhelming and precise.
Kade’s low groan rasped against his ear. “Hungry thing.”
The words barely registered. They couldn’t. The world had narrowed to skin and heat, to the friction, pressure, and stretch that tore through him, leaving only this impossible, overwhelming need.
Then Kade curled his fingers.
It hit Eli like lightning striking dry grass. White-hot, a shock that started deep inside and radiated outward, burning his chest and legs. Sound tore from him, raw, animal, urgent. Every muscle clenched around Kade’s hand, desperate to hold on, desperate to feel more.
Kade’s laugh was a low scrape of satisfaction that felt almost as good as his touch. Everything inside Eli slid into molten, trembling surrender.
Kade didn’t pause. He moved with intention now. His fist wrapped around Eli’s cock, long, brutal strokes that dragged heat from root to tip. Each pull was wet, thumb smearing slick over the slit, every pass cruelly precise—tight under the head, looser at the base—so Eli never adjusted, never got comfortable. Every stroke teased him, pushed him higher, left him aching, leaking, burning.
Inside, the fingers thrust and curled, relentless, matching the rhythm of his hand. Grind and curl, pulse and press. Eli’s toes dug into the mattress, hips jerking against Kade’s hold on his belly, arms trembling with the force of it. Heat slicked across his skin, sweat mingling with slick, body burning like fever.
Every first sensation—every new stretch, every new press, every push into heat and friction—tore through him. His brain scrambled to process what pleasure could feel like when someone else owned it, guided it, made it urgent, demanding.
Kade didn’t ease. He kept him there—open, raw, exposed, slick and desperate, every nerve alight, every muscle alive.
How did he know? How did a stranger—a werewolf!—know where Eli’s body would bend before Eli did?
Eli shouldn’t trust him. Shouldn’t trust anyone. He knew that. He’d learned the cost of trust young.
