Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
His entire body hurt as he dug his feet against the bed and writhed beneath Amani, fighting himself as much as his self-imposed bonds, clenching his thighs and struggling to hold himself back when his cock was ready, so fucking ready, every twitch of blood pulsing through it seeming to rocket back through Vic’s every muscle and tighten in his balls as he wet his skin again and again with gleaming threads of pre-come.
“Amani,” he begged, keeping his eyes locked on that flowing, rocking body, those parted lips that let out such heady, smoky cries. “Please…please…”
“Nnh.” Breathless, Amani slowed his strokes, slipping his dripping fingers out from inside himself. “That’s another thin you’ll learn, pet. Asking gets you everywhere.”
Before Vic could ask what he meant, Amani braced his hands against Vic’s stomach, lifted himself up on tight, quivering thighs…and sank himself down on Vic’s cock, moving one slick inch at a time, squeezing him so tight he choked the breath from Vic as surely as if his hand had dug into his throat.
Vic thrashed, jerking hard at the headboard, groaning, his entire body going tense. He’d never felt anything like it—fire made flesh and sweeping over him, swallowing him, forcing him into confines too tight, too crushing, to fit and yet every rocking flux of contracting walls sucking him deeper into slicked and convulsing heat. He strained upward, wanting more—but Amani moved at his own pace, those skewering eyes locking on him and cutting deep as his Master took him one slow inch at a time, each tiny rocking thrust raising a hitching gasp in Amani’s throat and a tortured snarl in Vic’s. God, he wanted to come, he wanted to come so fucking bad he was ready to sob with it, but Amani was so tight he couldn’t, locked in and caught in this deep and yet perfect, wonderful suffering.
And the entire time those parted lips seemed to laugh with mockingly sweet warmth, tongue-tip caught between Amani’s teeth, saying without words.
You could stop me…but you won’t.
And when Amani began to move…Vic understood what it meant to let go.
Without one collar, one cuff, one whip, one chain, this tiny sylph brought him to heel as slickness molded and licked and rolled over him, caressing and squeezing his full length and arousing a riot inside him as every nerve ending fired at once, as combustion chain reactions rolled through him and left him weak. He couldn’t move, He couldn’t fight. He couldn’t struggle. He didn’t want to, as pleasure overwhelmed him in debilitating rushes that stripped him of all but the ability to feel.
So close—so close, and Amani moved faster, arching over him with little hungry panting sounds, dark hair falling over him in slithering skeins that lashed ice against his too-hot skin, and his fingers itched to grip up handfuls of that hair but he resisted, he resisted, caught and enslaved by the sight of Amani pleasuring himself with such unrestrained sensuality on Vic’s unresisting form. Vic caught his breath as he felt it building, felt it rising, he was going to break—
Until Amani stopped, inner walls clenching and locking down on him in rigid walls of muscle, strangling him off again and dragging a frustrated, agonized cry from his throat.
Breathing shallowly, flushed and disheveled and so utterly wanton, Amani held him like that, kept him poised, utterly trapped. A sly little smile danced across his Master’s lips. Pretty fingers wrapped against his throat, marking him, owning him, as Amani leaned down to kiss him in an obscene, delicious parody of fucking, tongue thrusting and licking and violating Vic’s mouth.
“You can come now, sweet boy,” Amani sighed against his lips, and squeezed that crushing palm against Vic’s throat, body tightening one last time.
Vic’s eyes rolled back. His entire body pulsed in a single convulsive throb.
And he broke inside, broke as if he’d been struck, broke as if he’d been snapped apart by delicate hands. Coming was pain, coming was a rending and tearing of the self, and he fell into it completely and wholeheartedly, emptying his body in shuddering, jerking bursts, spilling himself inside that tight and milking body. He had no control over it, couldn’t stop it, couldn’t slow the flood.
Not until his entire self was drained, his will weak…and his mind clear of all but the feeling of being possessed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AMANI SANK DOWN AGAINST VICTOR, struggling to catch his breath, licking the taste of his own sweat from his lips as he fell forward to rest his brow to Vic’s heaving chest, bracing his hands against Vic’s ribs to keep from collapsing completely. Fuck. That had been…fuck.
His entire body felt like caramel, running slow and hot, and he burned where Vic’s cock stretched him still, even softening still thick enough to leave his entire world centered on that feeling of tight, aching penetration, so deep and opening him in such painful, delicious ways. He’d come the moment he’d felt Vic spill inside him, the moment those wet runnels hit that perfect trigger point—and he was practically melting, as he shifted subtly and felt fresh slickness sliding between them, licking along flesh to flesh, only to still as Vic let out a pained hiss that bordered on a whimper, clenching his teeth.