Page 44 of Such a Feral Little Lamb
“Yes,” I say honestly, tone husky, and he stills for just one moment before he finishes unfastening one boot. The other he does more quickly.
When he turns again, I don’t raise my eyes, and my mouth waters at the sight before me. The bulge of his cock presses against the front of those trousers and I shake with the desire—no, theneed—to slide off this bed and to my knees.
Mason takes hold of my chin and tips my head back. “Not yet,” he murmurs, but the quirk of his lips tells me he’s pleased all the same.
He likes how I react to him. I like how he reacts to me.
When he begins to withdraw his hand, I grab his wrist. A frown flickers across his face, vanishing when I press my lips to his palm.
This is too much, isn’t it? For the first time since I’ve known him, a faint hint of colour brushes Mason’s cheeks, and his next breath stutters out of him. I trail my lips up his forefinger and press a kiss to the tip. There’s enjoying ourselves, really indulging in a way I’ve never had a chance to before, and then…
There’s this. Whatever this is. It’s different from anything I’ve ever known.
I let go of Mason’s hand and his shaking fingers struggle with the buttons on his shirt. I don’t reach out to help. I grin up at him instead, and something flares in his eyes before he reaches down and pulls the entire thing off over his head.
My mouth goes dry, smile dropping in an instant. Bone-pale skin covers lean muscle, Mason’s pretty pink nipples already hardening in the cool air of the room. I clench my fingers in the blanket to keep myself in place. My cock swells in my trousers, underwear growing damp.
He has scars too, which, considering how he just healed my face, surprises me. One is a slash just beneath his ribs, anotherlooking almost like a tear on his right forearm. Both have a silver sheen as he moves. They’re old.
All of my attention shifts when Mason’s hands fall to the button on his trousers. He waits until he has my focus, then a minute or two longer. I don’t look up at his face. I canfeelhis smirk, the sharp edges of it, the absolute certainty that he can do whatever he wants to me, and I won’t merely let him, I’ll want it.
He flicks the button and drags down the zip achingly slow. The hair at his groin is as pale as everywhere else on his body, but there’s a curly thatch of it that he reveals as he pushes his trousers over sharp hipbones and then further down. Mason’s cock springs free, the only part of him with any true colour. It’s hard and thick and almost purple at the head, which is already wet with pre-cum.
I lean forward with no conscious thought. Mason chuckles and takes a step back, pushing his trousers all the way down before he steps out of them.
“Fuck,” I mutter when he’s finally standing, entirely naked, before me. I run my tongue over my teeth. I want to dig them in, to redden every inch of him, and listen to how much that pleases him.
“Your turn,” Mason says, but when I go to stand, he shakes his head. I huff and reach back, dragging my T-shirt over my head in one smooth movement. When I toss it past Mason, then kick off my boots, he frowns like I should be more careful, but he doesn’t tear his eyes from me, so I figure I can do what I like.
I don’t have the self-control to go slowly, though. I attack the button on my trousers, then shove them and my underwear all the way off in a move that is far from graceful. Mason doesn’t seem to care. By the time they’ve hit the floor, he’s between my thighs again, hands roaming over my shoulders and chest.
I lean back on my elbows, shifting my hips a little way up the bed, and Mason plants one knee on the mattress. His thigh brushes my cock, and I groan at that brief touch.
“Mason, please.”
“Tell me what you want.” He takes me in again with a sweep of his eyes. “I’m inclined to give you anything.”
“I don’t… Fuck.” I don’t have anything with me, and my head might be spinning, breath coming in short pants, but I know better than to fuck without condoms. Need lube, too. It’s not like I come out on hunts expecting anything like this to happen.
“Protection?” Mason guesses, and I nod, biting my lip. He frowns. “I don’t have anything, but I can get it.”
“Right now?”
He chuckles. “Not right now.”
My cheeks heat. We’ll do this again, then. Hewantsto do this again, even though we’ve done nothing at all so far. Mason draws a swirling pattern on my hip with his forefinger.
“I have lube,” he says. “And two good hands.”
I bark a laugh at the flash of mischief in his eyes and surge up for a kiss. He lets me take it, gripping the back of my head as I give in to the primal urge to dig my fingers into pale skin.
He might get rid of the marks I leave on him the same way he got rid of my bruise, but I think he might not. He might want to keep them.
He might want to keep me.
Mason kisses my throat and my shoulder, then pushes his thigh up against my cock before he reaches over and shoves a hand under his pillow. The contact is electric. I thrust against his thigh, soft hair and taut muscle feeling incredible against my length.
“Fuck, keep going,” Mason says. He has lube in his hand, though fuck knows where he originally got it, but that thought isa distant curiosity as Mason leans further over me, pressing his thigh more firmly against my shaft.
