Page 12 of Lone Wolf
Salem cracked the bottle open and took a drink, then smiled seductively and leaned over to give Damian a long, deep kiss. "I like to be one hundred percent present on a date," he whispered against Damian's lips, his eyes making so many promises. "How’s the drink? Did I make it right?"
Damian put the glass to his lips, but he couldn't look away from the omega. The cola was sweet, the rum was good, and suddenly he didn't need it at all. He drank the single mouthful, then set it aside on the table by the bed. "You did. But I think I might want to be a hundred percent present for this too." He reached out to run a hand down Salem's flank, then laughed when the omega climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips.
What a picture that was. The brief stab of homesickness wasn't unexpected, and it hurt exactly as much as he'd expected, but there was some other emotion too, though he couldn't put his finger quite on what it was. Damian stroked the flesh of Salem's thighs, his hips, his belly, but hesitated as he got closer to the deep pink line that curved between Salem's hips.
"Go ahead," Salem whispered, eyes fever bright. "You can touch it."
Damian's eyes widened, but Salem just nodded at him, an encouraging smile on his lips.
Carefully, as if reaching toward a fire, Damian spread his hand over the stretch of skin beneath Salem's navel and slowly let his thumb drift over the slight roughness of Salem's omega line.
Salem let his head fall back, his breath rushing out of him with a shudder. His cock grew visibly harder in front of Damian, such a temptation to touch if the omega line hadn’t been beneath his fingers. Salem braced his hands on Damian’s thighs behind him and leaned away from Damian as if he was asking silently for the alpha to continue what he was doing.
This is so wrong.But he couldn’t stop himself, running his thumb back and forth across the line, watching the pain-pleasure grow on Salem’s face. The omega squirmed a little on Damian’s lap, but his body was tense, as if he was afraid to move too much. Afraid something would happen? Or afraid Damian would stop? “Too much?” he asked gently.
“Noooo,” Salem moaned. His hands tightened on Damian’s thighs and he whined, arching his belly toward Damian’s hands. “Don’t stop.” The sheen of sweat that had started to dry on his skin sprang up again and his hips rocked restlessly. “Oh, Lysoonka!”
Fascinated and more than a little turned on by Salem’s reaction, Damian did as he was told, tracing his fingertips over Salem’s omega line, watching the man on top of him squirm and twist with pleasure. He was starting to get hard again too, but he could ignore that. There was time, and this was like nothing he’d ever done before.
A thought occurred to him and before he’d even really explored it, he rolled Salem onto his back and worked his way down between the omega’s thighs.
“David?” Salem asked in a confused voice.
“Shh,” David told him and then replaced fingers with tongue.
Salem shouted and his thighs fell wide in open invitation. While Damian played along that secret part of him, Salem grappled with the pillows, the bedsheets, and even Damian’s body, his head twisting desperately against the fabric of the sheets. He made a high keening noise and his entire body went tense, like he was in the middle of a grand mal seizure, until he let out a sudden cry and slumped back down onto the mattress.
David rested his cheek against Salem’s hip, watching the omega’s chest as it rose and fell above him, gradually slowing until Salem lifted his head to gaze down at Damian in bewilderment.
“Where did you learn to do that?” he asked, his voice soft and slightly shaky.
Damian shrugged. He couldn’t say it was rumors he’d heard as a teenager, or that he’d collected all the scraps of knowledge he could, in case he might someday come back to Val. “Usually tongues feel better anywhere fingers feel good,” he finally said, and it wasn’t entirely a lie.
“Whoo,” Salem said and laid back down again. He reached down to tangle his fingers in Damian’s hair. “Thank you.”
It struck Damian funny then, that he was being thanked for an orgasm by the prostitute he’d hired and he started to laugh. Salem peered at him, slightly shocked, then began to laugh too. “Come up here and rest from your labors,” Salem said when their giggles had finally died down. He tugged gently on Damian’s hair until Damian gave in and crawled back up the bed to tuck the omega in under his arm again.
“This is nice,” Damian said. “I didn’t think it would be like this.”
Salem lifted his head briefly and looked Damian in the eye. “It can be however you want it. This isyourtime. I am here to make it the best I can. Tell me what you want and I will give it to you.”
It might have sounded manipulative, it might have sounded business-like, but something in the earnestness of Salem’s gaze, the warmth of his voice, and the way his body molded itself to Damian’s side made it into something else. Like a promise between lovers, or even just good friends. Damian could have fought that lie, but he didn’t want to. He’d come here for the fantasy, for a moment of respite from his loneliness—he wasn’t stupid enough to refuse it when offered.
“Let me catch my breath,” he told the omega. “I like this.”
Salem laid his head down again on Damian’s chest. “I do too.” His arm tightened around Damian’s waist, almost as if they really were lovers. And Damian decided to let the fantasy envelope him entirely.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We fucked again a third time that night, me on hands and knees in front of him, face to the mattress and biting a pillow to keep from howling the house down. Afterward, I ordered some food sent up, because I for sure needed to refuel and I thought some time spent feeding each other might be a nice way to start cooling the date down toward the end point. Not that I'd object to going longer--he was attentive and curious and took surprisingly good direction. Asked for it, even, which wasn't usual in a date. So a little spoiling was in order, and some odd quirk of sentimentality had me putting the meal on my own account with the house, not his.
He really had me.
While we waited for the food, we snuggled in the bed and he explored my body some more, but just casually, as if he couldn't stop the restless movement of his hands.
"You're in very good shape," I commented, tracing the solid lines of his pecs. He had a small round scar on one, up high, almost to his shoulder. "This must have hurt."
"It did." He picked my hand up and kissed my palm, then laid it back down on the center of his chest and covered it with his own hand. "What made you want to do this?"
