He’s absolutely goddamn right that I should get a reward.
It’s hard to tell if it’s the booze talking, or if it’s the fact I got to live out one of my greatest primal-play fantasies mere minutes ago and now have pure adrenaline running through my veins.
It could be either of those things if I’m being honest, but I think the most likely thing, the thing currently guiding my hands to my groin, pulling my belt open, and unzipping my fly is the fact that it’s been months,months, since I came by a hand other than my own. It’s been so long. Too long. Months and months. Not since Branson mated Lucien at the cabin.
I’ve taken care of everything on my own since then. I’ve applied for jobs, booked flights, and moved countries by myself. I’ve done it all. I’ve done everything. Every single thing, and fuck, I’m so tired of keeping it together and doing it all myself.
I just want there to be one thing I don’t have to do on my own.
Just one little thing that someone else takes care of for me.
Okay, fine.
It’s not that. I’m a bad bitch who can take care of myself. I’m just really, really fucking horny and want a nut without my name on it. It’s that simple.
Lord Augustus is standing close to me, and he’s one of those people who is even more beautiful up close than he is a few feet away. The glossy dark gleam of his hair and the soft golden hues of his skin spin together and make him look more imposing. More personable. Sweeter and even sexier than usual.
I take a deep breath and let go of my pants without overthinking it. He keeps his eyes on mine, but his lips quirk as my pants slide down my legs and pool at my ankles.
My dick has been hard since God knows when, and it’s leaking so much that I’m pretty sure there’s a visible wet spot darkening the front of my briefs.
The lord doesn’t seem to notice it, though his expression has altered since I dropped my pants. It’s changed from mild and concerned about my well-being to focused. His brows have drawn down, and the hinge of his jaw is bulging a little more than usual.
He reaches down, putting his hand on my hip, just below the elastic of my briefs. His skin is on my skin, but not for long. He takes hold of me roughly, almost impersonally, and turns me around in a businesslike manner.
I’m a little shocked by his treatment. It’s rougher than I was expecting, but my dick loves it.Lovesit. Finds it mortifying in all the best ways.
I find myself pressed against the wall, cheek to plaster with a big, hot hand pressing between my shoulder blades. The hand drops, moving slowly down my back and smoothing my underwear over my ass. It’s ridden up on one side. It must have because the lord takes it upon himself to untuck the elastic from the crack of my ass and smooth it over my cheek once he’s been successful.
It’s hard to say why this simple gesture turns me on so hard—probably something to do with willfully exposing my quiveringthighs and sodden underwear to a member of British nobility—but a lot is going on right now, so it’s hard to say for sure.
He tucks his fingers into my waistband and slowly, fucking slowly, eases my briefs down over the mounds of my ass.
“You’re so wet,” he says as though he’s commenting on the weather.
My cheeks—the ones on my face—flush a dark shade of crimson. Heat rushes to the top of my head and sinks slowly down again, spilling out of me in a warm, slippery trickle.
Lord Augustus takes my hands, which were hanging limply at my sides, and raises them above my head. He crosses them at the wrists and pins them against the wall with one hand. He dusts the underside of my naked ass cheeks with the other. His hands are warm. Strong. They move with an excess of confidence, a surplus of sexuality that makes my knees start to knock.
My dick aches with arousal, stiff as a battering ram as the head butts into the cold wall in front of me.
He doesn’t leave me like that for long. His free hand sweeps around my ass cheeks in a broad figure of eight. He circles each cheek and squeezes them one by one, testing their weight and pulling them open just enough to expose my slippery hole. His hand moves down and then up again. Slowly. When it travels down again, his fingers slide down my crack, and he applies a hint of pressure as he passes over my opening.
I press my lips together tightly to stifle the abhorrent sound that’s trying to escape me, and I’m suddenly grateful for the position I’m in. My arms are hiding my face. The lord can’t see me, and I can’t see him. It’s just me and the wall, and gratification closing in on me from behind.
He doesn’t tease or toy with me at all. He simply whispers, “Ready?”
I bow my head to form the start of a nod, resting my forehead against the wall. He taps my entrance twice. Then he thruststwo thick fingers in. All the way in. In to the knuckle, as deep as he can get them. The shock of the sudden intrusion knocks the breath out of me. The pleasure wrings a low, guttural sound from my larynx.
The stretch is quick and intense. It’s accompanied by a deep burn that’s only just on the right side of pain. It tears through me, lighting everything in its path, setting it ablaze. Sensitive nerve endings react in shock.
The lord draws back and thrusts, draws back, and thrusts. There’s no time to acclimatize, no time to adapt to the girth of the digits stretching me open. There’s only wave after rough wave of pleasure being forced upon my rectum.
He sees to me thoroughly, holding on to my wrists tightly and fingering me until I see stars and I’m wobbling unsteadily on my tiptoes. Say what you will about the lord, but this is clearly not his first time coming into contact with a prostate. He finds the hidden bundle of nerves with surgical precision and hammers sensations out of it that I wasn’t aware existed.
The sounds I make are incomprehensible. Reprehensible. Unfit for polite company.
The lord hears them and hums in my ear in response. My legs start shaking in earnest.
