Page 21 of Summoning Mr. Wrong
“What do you want, Julian?” he asked, his breath hot against my skin. “Tell me how to please you.”
The directness of the question, combined with the intensity of his gaze, made me momentarily speechless. In my limited sexual experience, partners had rarely asked so explicitly.
“I want…” I swallowed, gathering courage. “I want you inside me.”
His eyes flared brighter, the amber turning almost gold. “Are you sure? We didn’t do that last time.”
“I’m sure,” I said, more confident now. “I want to feel you. All of you.”
He groaned, burying his face in my neck. “You have no idea what you do to me when you say things like that.”
His hand moved between us, wrapping around both our erections, stroking slowly. The friction was exquisite, made better by the slight roughness of his palm and the heat radiating from his skin.
“Do you have supplies?” he asked, still moving his hand in that maddeningly perfect rhythm. “Lube, condoms?”
“Drawer,” I managed, nodding toward the nightstand. “Though I’m not sure you need condoms, being… you know.”
“Better safe than sorry,” he said with a wink. “Some supernatural STIs would really ruin the mood.”
Before I could process that disturbing thought, he was reaching for the drawer, retrieving the half-empty bottle of lube I kept there. I hadn’t had occasion to use it with a partner in far too long, but some lonely nights called for extra assistance.
“Roll over,” he instructed gently. “On your stomach.”
I complied, suddenly nervous despite my eagerness. It had been a while, and Deus was… well, proportionally blessed.
“Relax,” he murmured, as if sensing my anxiety. “I won’t hurt you. Quite the opposite.”
He started with a massage, his strong hands working the tension from my shoulders and back. Gradually, his touches became more intimate, moving lower, tracing the curve of my spine down to my ass. By the time his lubed finger circled my entrance, I was completely relaxed, practically melting into the mattress.
“Good?” he asked as he slowly pressed one finger inside.
“Yes,” I breathed, pushing back against his hand. “More.”
He took his time, working me open with careful patience, adding a second finger only when I was pleading for it. The burn of the stretch was quickly replaced by pleasure as he found my prostate, making me gasp and clutch at the sheets.
“There we go,” he said with satisfaction. “Found it.”
He continued his methodical preparation, adding a third finger, stretching and scissoring until I was a writhing mess beneath him, begging incoherently for more.
“Please, Deus,” I gasped, beyond pride or self-consciousness. “I’m ready. I need you.”
“Since you ask so nicely,” he said, his voice tight with restraint. I heard the sound of a condom wrapper tearing, then felt the blunt pressure of his cock against my entrance.
He pushed in slowly, giving me time to adjust to each inch. The stretch was intense, bordering on too much, but he paused whenever I tensed, murmuring encouragement and praise.
“So perfect,” he groaned as he finally bottomed out. “You feel incredible, Julian.”
I felt impossibly full, stretched to my limit around him. For a moment, we stayed perfectly still, both adjusting to the sensation. Then he began to move, shallow thrusts that gradually deepened as I relaxed around him.
The tattoos on his skin were going wild now, extending onto my back where he touched me, creating patterns of pleasure that seemed to sink beneath my skin. The sensation was unlike anything I’d ever experienced—part physical, part something else, something that felt almost like energy flowing between us.
“What’s happening?” I gasped as a particularly intense wave of pleasure washed through me.
“Energy transfer,” he grunted, his pace increasing. “Just let it happen. It won’t hurt you.”
It definitely wasn’t hurting. Quite the opposite. Each thrust sent dual waves of pleasure through me—the physical sensation of him hitting my prostate, and this new, strange energy that seemed to light up every nerve ending.
He shifted our position slightly, pulling me up onto my hands and knees for better leverage. The new angle let him go deeper, harder, each thrust now hitting exactly the right spot. I dropped my head between my arms, overwhelmed by sensation.
