Page 135 of Harvest of Sighs (Thornchapel 3)
“You would be tied up,” I say softly, determined to finish this little game of ours. I find his wri
sts with my hands again. “Tied up and bound.”
I pin him to the ground by his wrists, by his hips, and continue rutting against him. His eyelashes flutter up at me in the headiest way; he’s beyond himself, beyond his normal restraint and sophistication, he’s nothing but a horny, pleading boy underneath me. No longer the Thorn King.
Just a man needing the most essential release men need.
“You wore your torc, you were drugged and bound,” I say low in his ear, still thrusting against him. “And now all that’s left is to give it up. All that’s left is to let go.”
“Yes,” he murmurs, his eyes closing. “Yes, St. Sebastian.”
And with a long, hard shudder, he releases against me, spending onto both our stomachs and cocks.
And then it happens. The inevitable. What was inevitable from the kiss, from before the kiss, from when I saw him sitting against the wall while thunder rolled around us.
Pleasure scissors deep in my gut, knifing me with delirium, with jabs of euphoric and primal sensation. My spirit is huge, expansive, as big as the storm, and my body is nothing but heat and flesh and need, rutting in primal, biological drive. Something shears free at the base of my spine, like a strung wire being cut, and the whiplash nearly kills me. I growl wildly into Auden’s neck as my hips pump and pump against his, as I ejaculate all over us both, spurting heavily over and over and over again.
It’s not an orgasm, it’s a death. It’s a draining, an emptying. Ten weeks of longing, two and a half months of denial, all of it pumping out of me like blood from a vein, hot and life-giving. Spilling and spilling and spilling.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until it’s over and I’m slumped against him. The tears run down to my nose and drip onto his throat, where they slide in clear tracks down to the grass.
“I’m sorry,” Auden whispers underneath me, and for a moment, I think he means about what we’ve just done, about the Thorn King game and what I used it for. But as he rolls me to my back and reaches for his bag, I realize he’s not apologizing for what we just did, but for what he’s about to do. “I’m sorry,” he says again, moving me to my stomach and then crawling over me. “I need it too much from you. Just one more time.”
“Do it,” I tell him. Fuck. “Do it. Do it before we stop ourselves.”
Something cool and slick rubs against my opening. Hand lotion, I think. Not that I care. He could tell me all he has is spit and a prayer, and I’d tell him to go ahead.
He pushes a finger inside of me and my cock swells anew, filling and throbbing back to life for him. “Auden, please, I can’t wait any lo—”
I don’t finish, because in one vicious move, he’s replaced his finger with his cock. A brutal thrust that has me crying out into the grass.
“That’s right, stubborn boy,” he says, grabbing me by the hips and hauling me up to all fours. He enters me again, blazing a path so tight and hot that I think I might combust from the inside out. “That’s right. I know you missed it. You missed me taking my pleasure inside you.”
Gone is the pleading Auden from just minutes ago, gone is whatever docility he’d adopted for my sake. He is all wild god once again, cruel and victorious, with only one goal, one drive and one need.
To fuck.
It doesn’t take long. It’s been too much time apart, there’s been too much space between us. It’s too forbidden, too filthy, it feels too good. I don’t even have to touch my own erection and it goes off, simply from Auden behind me and the silky drag of him against my prostate.
I explode and writhe back against him, my cock jerking and spilling onto the grass. He bands an arm across the front of my hips, and after a breathlessly mendacious series of thrusts, he gives a pleased grunt and fills me with his heat.
A hand, dispassionate and businesslike, reaches down and checks my erection to see if it’s wet at the tip. To see if I came.
When he finds that I did, he lets out another satisfied grunt, and then slides free. He pulls up his shorts and then stretches out sideways on the grass, yanking me down next to him and crushing me into his chest.
“Not yet,” he whispers into my hair. “I’m not ready to stop yet.”
And neither am I.
I doze for a while like this, and then I’m awakened to be fucked again. I don’t know if it’s Lammas or merely the pent-up need between us, but Auden is insatiable this time around, like he can’t settle for just one dish, he needs the entire menu.
And I encourage it.
When he kisses me, I find his hands and guide them to my throat. When he hauls me up against his chest, I twist over his lap and bait him into spanking me.
When he pushes me into the grass and wraps strong fingers around me, I wriggle out of my jeans and cover the hand curled around my hip, making it squeeze hard enough to send me squirming.
And when he crawls over me with swollen lips and tousled hair, his eyes once again like windows to the forest, I press my palm against his heart and say, “Say it and it’s yours,” just as I said that Beltane afternoon by the river.
