Page 16 of Lamb to Slaughter
“Oh,”Lam said as he slid down and down until he was fully seated on Conan’s lap. “Oh, that’s–ah. A lot.”
Conan groaned again, head thrown back. He realized his fists had curled only when the blade pushed meaningfully against his neck.
“Little hard not to move–when you–when you’re taking my cock like you were made for it,” Conan gritted out.
It was Lam’s turn to laugh. This one was different, higher and tinkling like bells. It sounded like a real laugh.
That hit Conan hard in the gut, and his cock twitched where it was buried inside Lam. He wanted to do it again, amuse him, please him.
Conan had flirted his way into a lot of beds, but most of the sex there had been perfunctory. They were all a blur of men under his hands, just enough to get him off, but nothing like this. His blood didn’t sing in his veins like it was now.
They’d barely started, but Conan was breathless, thrilled. This felt revelatory. Dangerous. He wanted to lean into the blade of the knife, let it cut him again just because it might please Lam.
He’d never been with anyone like this. Most of the men he slept with were shy and sweet in bed. A few had liked to fight and struggle, but none of them had had skill enough to actually harm him. None of them had ever slipped a knife out of their pocket and made demands of him.
Butfuckwas it doing it for him.
Even the idea that Lam might still slit Conan’s throat didn’t deter him. If anything, it tightened the coil of arousal in his belly. The threat of the unknown, the unpredictable nature of this man on top of him was making him burn.
Shit.
“How’re you doing, sweetheart?” Lam asked. He hadn’t moved, but when Conan opened his eyes again, he knew he’d been watching. Enjoying? He didn’t look bored.
“I’m good, baby,” Conan smiled and he knew it was sharp, hungry. It was difficult not to move his arms, not to reach and grab that slim waist and fuck Lam down on his cock.
But that wasn’t what was on the menu right now. And to be honest, Conan was intrigued by that. He wanted to know how it went when he wasn’t in the driver’s seat.
“You gonna ride me now?” He asked.
Lam hummed and then did just that, pushing up for the first time and then slowly dropping back down. The biting cold added something, as did the hard cobblestones against his back. Conan hissed as Lam took him all again, all the way to the hilt.
Lam started up a slow, grinding rhythm. “I’m going to enjoy you, and then decide what I should do with you after.”
That was ominous. Conan shivered as another ricochet of pleasure hit him.
“You must have some–ah–ideas,” Conan said. Shit, Lam looked good above him, backlit by the moonlight, the perfectly coiffed hair and sneering tilt to his lips. “The–the knife’s not just for show.”
Lam smiled with all his teeth and dropped back down, groaning as he did so. His neck was so long and pale in the moonlight, it was begging for a hand around it.
“It’s not,” Lam said, “but usually–fuck–usually you have to earn three strikes before you're out.”
That perked his interest. “Oh yeah? Have I earned any strikes?”
“You’d know,” Lam said meaningfully, and the knife tapped against his skin.
Interesting.
“Have any of your partners ever… gotten the home run?” He asked cheekily.
Lam went to snort, but it came out more like a soft sigh as he kept moving. Conan had never been someone’s cock toy like this, and the experience was enlightening.
“No,” Lam said. His free hand dropped down on Conan’s chest to brace himself as he started to move faster. Conan could hear the sound of it, the slick fuck between them. He was so hard, so close already it was alarming.
“I could be the first,” Conan said, and he liked the sound of that. The threat of the knife was wildly arousing, but so was the idea of being something unique to this man. Unusual.
The first.
“Mmm,” Lam said thoughtfully as he kept up the sinuous movement. “Wouldn’t that be interesting?”
