Page 34 of Script
I really should go downstairs.
“Holy fucking Gretzky, and hell, no!” Cameron exclaimed from my bathroom door, causing me to lose at least three lives as I spun to face him, my scarlet cloak billowing around me and my hand on my chest right over my heart.
I smoothed the cloak. “Cameron!”
“No way am I letting you go to the party looking like that!” He turned to leave the bathroom, and I didn’t follow him, my heart sinking. I’d seen that look before, when I’d fucked up with something that seemed fine at the time of doing it. Awkward Finn is awkward.
“I’m sorry!” I called after him.
Fuck, I’d had so many years with people dressing me for parts I’d never even thought that—
“You need to put this on! Stat.” Cameron returned, and I got a real eyeful of the sexiest Viking I’d ever seen. Of course, I hadn’t seen many Vikings at all, apart from on the silver screen, but Cameron -- in his tight black shirt and hip-hugging pants, with his stubble and god, was that eyeliner? -- was a walking advertisement for sex. He held out a black T-shirt, but as I reached for it, he cursed under his breath, dropped it to the floor, and tugged me into his arms, then kissed me, pushing me back into the vanity and pinning me as he went to his knees. “I’ve never seen anything like you…” He unzipped my pants and eased them over my hips.
“I didn’t fuck up?” I asked him as he yanked at the leather as it stuck to my skin, and inhaled sharply when he tugged aside my thong—the only thing keeping my cock in place.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, and cradled my balls as he licked from the base to the tip of my cock. He kept talking, and praising, and telling me that I was too much for others, and that he wanted me himself, and then, I couldn’t hear him at all as I was moaning and writhing, and when he swallowed me whole, I shoved away the horns and gripped his short dark hair, holding him still so I could get my head straight, then releasing a little as he slid his fingers to my ass, one tapping my hole, his lips and tongue hot.
“Close,” I warned.
He groaned around my cock, and it was game over as he swallowed everything I gave him. I scrabbled to hold on, lost in my orgasm, aware he was still holding me in place, one hand on my chest, the other pulling his cock out, getting himself off as he kissed me.
“Fuck,” he leaned on me where I could feel his hand stripping his cock, and then he was arching and coming, then stumbling away, his back hitting the far wall.
He waited, breathing heavy. I tossed him a towel, which he caught in midair with his mad reflexes. He tucked himself away, but I didn’t move to do the same—it had taken oil to get me in these pants and I wasn’t sure I’d get them up again.
“Hi?” I was saying hello, but it was also a question, and he raised an eyebrow, his breathing ragged.
“Hi?” he repeated. “You’re in here wearing bondage gear and literally nothing else, and that’s all you have to say.”
“It’s not bondage.” I peered at the harness. “At least I don’t think it is.” I swirled my cloak a little, the material brushing my naked ass. “I have this.”
He stalked over to me, kissing me as he unbuckled the harness holding the voluminous mass of scarlet material and let it slip to the floor. Then, he picked up the T-shirt, taking his time pulling it over my head, careful not to touch the hair, then lifting the mass of twisted blond wig out of the way and smoothing the dark cotton over my chest. He examined the harness, buckled it, clipped the cloak, and stepped back. I wiped cold cum from my skin then inched up the leather pants until they were at least over my hips. I was way too sensitive to tuck my cock back in, and I sent him a rueful smile.
“We probably need to wait.”
“You’re so beautiful,” he muttered. He stepped into my space, helping me close the fastener on the pants, smoothing my cloak. “I don’t want to share with the rest of my team.” He rested his forehead on mine. “Some of the team would have eaten you alive, not to mention anyone else that got to see all that skin, you should have a warning tattooed on you.”
“Um, thank you?”
“Shit.” He stepped back again, and even though I tried to reach for him, he avoided me as if he were on the ice, smooth and fast and untouchable. “I just went all beast mode on you.”
“Yep.”
“I did that.” He waved at me, then at the hammer, which was now on the floor split in two. “And that.”
“It was great.”
“I don’t get territorial like that,” he half-whispered. “I’m sorry.”
Now it was my turn, and I crowded him against the wall, cupping his groin and pressing there. “Mine,” I muttered against his lips. “All mine.”
He groaned, I sagged, and we were kissing again, but this time it was lazy, changing the tempo, learning the things we liked, taking our time. His cell vibrating pulled us from the stupor of post-orgasm loving, and he pulled it out with a rueful smile as he read the message.
“We’re late,” he said, and kissed me again, slowing the licks and sucks until we just hugged. He was small in my arms, and he wasn’t a small man at all, he was strength and corded muscles, and he was all mine.
For the moment.
“So much for indestructible metal, forged in the heart of a dying star,” he muttered as he picked up the broken hammer where Styrofoam blocks from the interior had fallen out.
