Page 36 of Her Beast

Smith turned up the flame on the nearby gas lamp until the edge of the corona illuminated Malcolm, too.

Malcolm gritted his teeth but said nothing as Smith strode to him, his cock jutting thick and heavy. Smith had one of the biggest pricks Malcolm had ever seen, and it looked even bigger because Smith was not a large man.

He didn’t stop until his bare legs brushed against Malcolm’s trousers. An odd smile softened the stark planes of his face. “Do you wear your mask even when you are alone, my friend?”

“Always, except when I sleep or bathe.”

Smith reached for it.

Malcolm grabbed his forearm, which was like grabbing a chunk of hot iron. “You don’t want to see me.”

“Ihaveseen you.” Smith tugged his arm lightly and Malcolm let him slip free.

Smith reached behind Malcolm’s head and untied the leather cords that kept his mask in place.

Malcolm closed his eye and sighed with a combination of resignation and relief when Smith lifted the mask off. He heard it clatter to the desk and then felt Smith’s fingers slide into the hair on Malcolm’s undamaged right side while his other hand lightly stroked the raw whorls of flesh on his left.

It had been years since anyone other than his valet had seen or touched him and Smith’s hand on his damaged cheek felt strange, but not unpleasant.

The skin-to-skin contact on his right side made him desperate for more and Malcolm pressed his undamaged cheek against Smith’s palm, his tongue darting out to taste the salty skin.

Smith hummed with approval, his fingers tensing as he tilted Malcolm’s head up and up, forcing Malcolm to meet his dark, raptor-like gaze.

“How long has it been since you’ve had my cock in your mouth?” he asked, his expression fierce and hungry

Malcolm gave a surprised huff of laughter and his groin throbbed. “Are you telling me you don’t remember, Smith? I guess I couldn’t have been that memorable.” He was pleased that he sounded mocking rather than needy and desperate. Which is what he was feeling: so goddamned needy that he bled it from his pores.

Smith ignored his attempt at diversion, instead stroking Malcolm’s lower lip with his thumb, the rough pad lingering on the burned, slightly puckered skin on the left corner. “I want you.”

Malcolm’s ballocks clenched and his half-hard prick stiffened the rest of the way.

Every single time they got together Smith said something similar.

Every single time, Malcolm refused.

This time, he nodded.

Surprise flickered across Smith’s starkly handsome face and his slow smile was wicked and sensual. Rather than ask Malcolm why he’d finally changed his mind, he said, “Will it hurt if I fuck your mouth?”

Knowing Smith, it would. But Malcolm didn’t care. “No.”

Smith eyes darkened even more. “Take off your gloves. Both of them,” he added, reading Malcolm’s expressions far too easily for his comfort.

Malcolm gave an irritable sigh but obeyed, carefully peeling off the tight, tissue-thin leather of the Limerick gloves, which allowed him some degree of sensation in the fingers of his right hand and even a little in the three-fingered claw that was his left.

Smith strode over to the settee, brought back a cushion, and tossed it on the floor at his feet. “Kneel,” he ordered, taking his thick shaft in his hand and working himself with slow, sensual strokes.

As Malcolm lowered to his knees, he couldn’t help being grateful for the hours he spent in his gymnasium. Between the exercising, the many skin grafts, and the frequent oiling, he felt barely a twinge in his knee.

Smith’s huge cock was now eye-level and he could smell his spunk as well as the faint hint of feminine musk from earlier in the evening, when he’d fucked Minette’s cunny. Malcolm inhaled, filling his lungs to bursting with their mingled scent, gorging like a starving man.

“Look at me.”

Malcolm obeyed without hesitation.

Smith’s eyes were black in the low light, his face harsh and satanic. “You may take out your cock, but no coming until I say.”

Malcolm fumbled with his trousers to comply, his prick already hard and leaking.

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