Page 23 of Astaroth
The Escalade’s lock beeped and the headlights blinked as they walked inside, greeted by the sleepy manor. Timid candlelight flickered on the walls. At the top of the stairs, Briar’s shadow darted down the hall before him, marking his path. He waited, though. Stood in his spectacular dress and his ridiculous shoes and held his breath. Remembered every word they’d exchanged at the museum. Every look they’d shared in the car. The ache radiating under his clippings drummed distantly, muted by alcohol and adrenaline, but there. Always there. Aster touched his hand. Their fingers linked, fell away, linked again, coming and going as they crossed the hall. For the first time, after all they’d done together, Briar noticed an uptick of anxiety spike in his chest. The promise of tenderness tempted his heart.
Chastity’s aquarium cast a red glow on the floor. Shadows reigned everywhere else. Even the windows were dark, concealing the snow and foggy, moonlit night. Briar didn’t know what to do. What, exactly, was heexpectedto do. . . ? In the atrium, Aster had caged him against the stairs. They’d clashed in the library, two livewires colliding. And in the shower, Aster had held him, moved against him in quick, satisfying bursts. But here, now, Briar’s chest tightened and his hands quivered. Anticipation gnawed on him.
Aster brought his hands to Briar’s face, dragging his fingertips along the lines of his neck, the shell of ears. Briar pushed his jacket away. Carefully opened the buttons on his shirt, unveiling his corset.
“As you know, I’ve never. . .” Briar gathered a deep breath. Once Aster’s shirt was gone, he slid the thin, leather straps through each buckle on his corset. Aster unclipped his gold choker. “My only reference point is what we’ve done together, so forgive my clumsiness.”
“Sex isn’t graceful,” Aster said, biting back a soft laugh. “Does the idea of something specific make you nervous?”
Honesty slipped from him, unguarded and sudden. “Disappointing you,” he said.
“Don’t worry about that.” Aster took his chin, pinching him. Light touches became purposeful. His hands grew heavier, cupping Briar’s jaw, thumb pressing on his mouth. “Is there anything you don’t want?”
Briar’s heart jumped into his throat. His stomach fluttered, and he shook his head. “Is there anythingyoudon’t want?
“No, but I need you to tell me if you’re uncomfortable. Are you okay with bottoming?”
“Pardon?”
Aster’s corset fell. His wings stretched, reaching far, spreading wide, and then fluttering as they folded. When Briar’s legs met the bed, he sank, and Aster did the same, kneeling before him at the edge of the bed. Still, he appeared kingly. Regal. Irreparably powerful. He slipped Briar’s shoes off one by one.How domestic, Briar thought.How simple.
“That involves me being inside you,” Aster said.
Briar’s cheeks warmed. “Yes, that’s. . .” His heart skipped, skin sizzling where Aster palmed his heel, lips light on his stockings. “I’m fine with that. Should I. . . Is there anything I should—”
“Don’t worry about that either,” Aster said. “I’m not a college freshman. I can handle your body, Briar.”
Coral fabric lifted above his thighs, pushed upward by Aster’s strong hands. His mouth followed. Teeth snagged the clasp on his garter. Briar’s head spun. He braced on his palms, enduring the hot press of Aster’s lips on his thigh. He bit, barely, and Briar gasped, opening his legs wider. Desire tugged sharply at the base of his spine. Like this, he had become radically undone. Unleashed by the choice to become, to change, to give and take. Red glowed on Aster’s wings. He focused on the aquarium, staring at scales and ferns and beady eyes, and bit back the moan growing in his throat.
Aster mouthed at his cock, straining against petal-pink lace, lips slick and slow. Briar’s underwear dampened. Lips covered his clothed cock, and he yelped, a helpless sound. Even drawn out, even slowed to a crawl, pleasure overwhelmed him. Briar’s back bowed. He clutched Aster’s nape and lifted his hips. Fabric scratched his thighs, his knees, looped around his shins. His panties dangled there, caught on his ankle as Aster pushed him against the bed, one hand spread wide on his belly, mouth hot and wet, sliding around his cock. Pain shot through his clippings. He winced, caught between Aster’s tongue and his soft, open throat, and the unpleasant sting growing beneath his bandages.
Briar pushed to his palms. Aster’s eyes were closed, his lashes fanned over his hollowed cheeks. When Aster pushed him down, he went, wincing at another ruthless jab to his wounded shoulder blades.
“Aster, wait. Wait, I. . .” He closed his eyes, chewing hard on his lip. Aster pulled away. “I don’t think I can be on my back,” he said.I’ve been ruined and now I’ve ruined this, he thought. It was an awkward thing to think right then, looking at Aster’s dark pupils and slick lips, but he couldn’t help it. Worry closed around his neck like a collar.
Aster’s brows knitted. He appeared struck, only for a moment, then he craned forward and kissed Briar on the mouth. “I wasn’t thinking,” he whispered. His hands were everywhere, somehow. Burning on Briar’s thighs, scaling his stomach, gripping his waist. “You okay?”
Briar nodded, taking shelter in another lingering kiss. He missed Aster’s mouth on his cock. Wanted, desperately, to be held down. To look upon his face. Knowing he couldn’t—not the way he’d imagined, at least—sobered him. Aster kissed him harder. Pried at his mouth. Stole his breath. They kissed untilhe was panting and flushed, catapulted back into the thick of wanting.
“On your belly, then,” Aster said, murmuring the words against Briar’s slack mouth.
Briar blushed terribly. But he nodded, sucking in a surprised breath as Aster flipped him over, dress still clinging to him, same as the maiden inThe Nightmare, pooling on his lower back. He imagined how he looked, wrapped like a broken bird, flushed and freckled and hard against the comforter. Lips touched his tailbone. Aster’s palm followed his thigh to his ass. Breath gusted, warm and sudden between his legs, before Aster opened his mouth over Briar’s hole and licked into him. Briar twisted the comforter in his hands. Heat rushed to the surface of his skin and throbbed in his groin, stirred by warm strokes along his perineum, pushing against his rim, coaxing him open. Briar whined, shoving his face against the bed. His hips jerked. He pushed against Aster’s mouth. Winded, breathy sounds stuttered from him, feral little noises he couldn’t control. He squeezed his eyes shut. Felt his body jerk backward, reaching for more of him, ofthat, of Aster’s awfully talented tongue. Recognized cool air on his wet skin. Heard a bottle open. Shuddered at the pressure of a slippery push.
“Okay?” Aster asked. He made small, shallow movements, working Briar open with lubed fingers, one, then another. Briar nodded. He kept his expression hidden, shielding a wince with his arm as Aster pushed deeper, curling and scissoring.
If it weren’t for Briar’s position—knees wide, chest against the bed—he would’ve thought this was clinical. Medical. But the awkwardness faded, chased away by the heel of Aster’s palm against his ass, fingers rubbing hard inside him. His muscles spasmed. Pleasure steadily rose. Igniting. Spreading.
Briar moaned. His legs widened, hips rocking into Aster’s rhythmic, purposeful touch. He wanted to meet his eyes, to seehim, to know if concentration tightened his face or if he watched, satisfied, as Briar’s body melted under his hands. Shyness kept him at bay—I want to see you,I want to see you.A zipper pulled, and his dress slid away, piling on the floor next to the rest of their discarded clothes.
Aster’s voice cut the quiet. “Breathe, all right?”
Briar swallowed. Nodded. Tried not to think of pain and braced for it anyway. The bed dipped under Aster’s weight. Strong hands latched around Briar’s hips. Nervousness crowded his throat, stifling each breath. Aster replaced his fingers with his cock, sighing through the first slow, careful thrusts. An unusual ache settled inside him, weighty and newborn.
“Put your hands here,” Aster said. The statement didn’t register at first. Briar blinked, inhaling and exhaling. Aster took one hand, then the other, and guided him to the low headboard. His knuckles whitened around the black frame, hard and firm beneath him. “How’re you feeling?” Lips met Briar’s nape, resting there.
“Okay, I—I think. . .” He arched his back and pushed against Aster’s hips. His stomach clenched, muscles tightening on a rushed breath.
Aster reached around his waist and took Briar’s cock, stroking him slowly. Mouthed at Briar’s throat. Snaked his free hand over ribcage, sternum, bandages, collarbones. His chest brushed Briar’s clippings and his teeth skimmed his pulse. Feathers shadowed them, flexing outward, shivering as their bodies met. Soon enough, pain gave way to pleasure, smothered by the heat throbbing beneath Briar’s bellybutton. He’d been close to bodies before—elbow deep in empty cadavers, tearing unwanted demons from the depths of someone’s throat, reaching for abandoned hearts behind bent bones—but he had always been alone. Close, in his own right, but alone with the long-gone, with the incapacitated, with the dying. Aster’s body wasalive. Aliveand strong and capable. His breath was there, hot against Briar’s nape, his voice raw and rasped, moans pressed into dewy flesh.
