Page 54 of The Gambler's Prize
I sit on the edge of the bed. He straddles me and eases himself onto the tip of my cock, eyelids fluttering. My hands dig hard into his hips and I can’t rip my gaze from his face. He’s in ecstacy, and I can’t look away.
“Now, you’re going to look into my eyes the whole time, so you know this is no hatefuck,” I tell him. “Sounds good?”
”Sounds good, Boss,” he breathes. His pupils are so dilated the blue of his eyes looks navy. He bucks his hips, testing his seat on me, sending sensation spiraling up my cock. I thrust sudden and fierce, bringing a gasp of pleasure.
“I can’t take my eyes off you,” he whispers.
Wild thing to say. Does he think I look like anything compared to him?
“You’re the most beautiful thing in this room, Florian,” I say. “In the world.”
I prove my words as I fuck him. Deep, slow, slow, loving strokes. Taking him thoroughly, staring at him like we’re making an oath. Over and over, deeper and deeper, making Lord Florian my own. His hands caress my face, my neck, all over the tattoo that he caused, and I let him. He kisses me, tongue teasing in rhythm with my strokes, and then he kisses the tattoo, and I let him. Let him draw the poison from my spirit.
“Hook your leg up,” I grunt, because I need to get deeper, get him high with pleasure, high on me, and he flings one leg over my shoulder like a gymnast, and now I can drive even deeper, pressing us ever closer together, our grunts in unison, the heat of our bodies surging. His precum all over us. I stare into his wondering eyes, and I realize there’s no hate left in me for him. There’s only pleasure, this moment, and Florian’s eyes. He feels so light and delicate with his leg hooked up over me, letting me take him, giving himself to me.
Never mind everything that’s gone before, everything he’s done to me, at this moment all I want is to make this as good for him as it is for me. I’m powerless to think of anything else. I hit his spot over and over until he’s liquid and whimpering with helpless pleasure. His hot tightness sends pleasure surging through me. I stroke his cock with one firm hand, watching the flush creep up his pale neck as he gets closer. He’s painfully hard, pulsing in my palm. He orgasms suddenly with a choked gasp. He only breaks eye contact when he loses control, head lolling back. I watch his back arch greedily, drinking in every detail in the bright light from the window. His inner muscles tighten around me, start to pulsate in time with his cock. It draws my own climax. My balls tighten. I cry out and come deep inside him, comehard, head spinning and filling him with my release.
“Good, Florian,” I breathe. “You took me so well. Let me fill you right up.”
He nods and murmurs something unintelligible but shivery with affection. He buries his head in my shoulder. I stroke his hair, eyes closed tight for two reasons. To prolong the moment, and to stop me from thinking too hard about the depth of that affection reverberating through me from his soft voice.
At last I have to open my eyes. I blink in the brightness and Florian is staring at me with those blue eyes, like he’s waking from a dream. I feel much the same way. He reaches out one tentative hand to wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead. I soften inside him, still breathing hard, our chests rising and falling against each other. Both staring at each other like we just saw something impossible.
“I didn’t know you could be so tender, Boss,” he says.
“Neither did I.”
“You don’t hate me anymore.”
I take a deep breath, like my head is breaking water. “No. I don’t.”
Chapter 24
Grimes
When I wake up, Lord Florian Southland is in my bed. Naked, wide awake, staring at me. Staring with devotion in his sky-blue eyes. What the fuck? Then it all comes flooding back to me. I slept with Florian. Not hate-fucking or doing each other a quick, meaningless favor like he used to suggest. I made love to him. Stared deep into his eyes and caressed that dark hairthat’s now looking like the definition of morning-after, falling wantonly over his face.
“Morning, Boss,” he says.
He leans in for a kiss. He’s already brushed his teeth in preparation. He’s acting like we’re a couple now.
“Sorry, need the bathroom.”
I escape the bed like an animal from a trap and sprint downstairs. The outhouse in my yard beats the latrines at the prison, but it’s nothing like the indoor plumbing I was used to in Rhennes. I only need to piss now so I don’t go near the grim shack, instead pissing against a tree well out of sight of my bedroom window. I’m trying not to look at my guilty cock. What was I thinking?
Stars, what a fucking mess.
I stare at the blank desert terrain around me, which stares right back, unhelpful and unyielding. I see Florian’s trembling naked body, just waiting for me to take him. His voice was so soft and tentative as he asked me to be gentle. Begged me to be gentle. All this time, I thought I wanted his capitulation. And when it came, I only wanted to make him feel safe. I fed shamelessly off his pleasure, looking right into his eyes the whole time. I can’t deny the tenderness I felt between us.
Maybe… maybe it’s still just physical. Breaking my dry streak after all that time, after the austerity of prison, is bound to affect my emotions. I got carried away with my first taste of Florian’s beauty, got a littletootender… but it still doesn’t mean anything. It’s the logical reaction.
I reassure myself with that thought for a few moments. It doesn’t last. I can’t lie to myself. Itisn’tjust physical. I want to look into those blue eyes as I ask him about his past and his family and his dreams. I want to see the proud flush cross his face when I praise his cooking or laugh at one of his jokes.
Fuck. This was not part of the plan.
The irony rankles. My first night of human connection for years, but I’ve never felt more alone. I have no idea what to do. When I started out on this plan, I didn’t expect betrayal to come from within. From my own psyche. I thought I could trust myself, at least. Apparently not. I run my hands over the rough stones around the well, trying to calm down and figure out my next move. I’m tempted to run over to Breta’s place and confess the whole scheme and beg her to tell me my next step. But she’d never approve of my thirst for revenge. I don’t want her looking at me with disappointment in her eyes. Instead I let out the chickens and they scurry pointlessly around the yard in a flurry of dust and feathers, their squawks headache-inducing and providing no answers.
Finally I drag myself back inside before Florian starts to wonder what has happened to me. He’s still lying in majestic nakedness in bed, expecting me to join him. I do, because I can’t think of an excuse. I need to confess, and fast, before this gets worse, but I can’t bring myself to push that expression of sleepy, happy contentment off his face.
