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When I opened my eyes again, I could see the thoughts churning within Arlo’s mind, hows and whys dancing among each other, deciding which was more pressing to ask first.
“My heart hurts at the thought of you being alone, but I am thankful that Charon gave you his time and love. Knowing you have experienced such simple honours of life makes me happy.”
He did not look happy. Far from it, in fact.
I swallowed the lump that had invaded my throat. There was a swelling in my chest that grew the more I looked at Arlo. From his determined stare to the way his spine curved as he leaned forward over his now crossed legs. Everything about him made me react physically.
“Charon has not been the only one to show me such things.” I leaned up on my elbows, stomach flexing, and reached a hand for Arlo’s knee. I gripped it as though winds threatened to blow me away from him. “You, Arlo, have given me so much more in such a short time.”
With bated breath, I waited for Arlo to say something. Anything. I could see he longed to from the subtle opening of his mouth. Silence crept between us, pulling taut, like a cord with knots that wished nothing more than to unwind.
Instead, it snapped completely when Arlo finally broke the silence. “Are you hungry?”
The insides of my cheeks pricked as Arlo reached across my body, his chest brushing precariously over the hardening length, as he snatched a pomegranate from the platter alongside the ivory-bone handle knife. He held it before me, in offering with a grin lifting the corners of his lips.
“Dare I ask what you are going to do with that?”
Arlo exhaled, “Feed you.”
I forced my brows to furrow. Arlo lifted the hard, crimson shell to his lips and pressed it there. It took tremendous effort not to take myself into my hand.
“What of the sheets? Careful, or they will become sticky and then where will we sleep?”
He shrugged, pink tongue escaping the confines of his glistening lips as it traced circles across the fruit. He knew what he was doing, the glint of allure in his mismatched eyes revealed as much.
Without saying a word more, Arlo clambered upon my lap, each leg resting on either side of my hips. It did not look as though he moved, but I felt him rock on my cock, encouraging it to throb against his bare skin with equal excitement. He leaned over me, lifted the silver knife and traced it across the mounds of my chest. A shock of cold metal had me gasping, as did the feeling of the sharp edge scratching across the coarse, curled hairs while Arlo ran it across me.
“I am beginning to believe you have an interest in sharp, culinary utensils,” I said, eyes flicking between Arlo’s smirk and the knife he drew across me.
“You trust me, don’t you?”
Nodding, I lifted my arm from the bed to reach for his face. Lightning fast, Arlo jabbed the tip of the knife at my throat. “Ah, ah, ah. Keep your hands to yourself. Let me please His Majesty and show him exactly how he should be treated.”
“There is danger in your eyes, my darling,” I purred. “Trust, yes. Thrill, even more so.”
“Good.” Arlo sat back up, withdrew the blade from my skin and brought it to the pomegranate that had, until now, become more of an afterthought during the past moments. “Open your mouth.”
A warmth spread across my stomach, hardening the muscles upon it. Shivering anticipation made my hands twitch; to still them I brought them up behind my head to ensure I followed Arlo’s command. Between the mischievous glow behind his gaze, and the fluid flashing of the knife, I did not want to disappoint.
Arlo was not as gentle with the knife as he drew it across the pomegranate’s casing. It split, and juices dripped in streams down his hand, his wrist, where it splattered across my torso.
“Oh dear,” Arlo cooed, not stopping until the fruit was cut into pieces. “It would seem I’ve made a terrible mess.”
“Indeed.” It was the only word I could muster strength to form aloud. Every other possibility I wished to share involved much darker thoughts. Things I wished to do to Arlo. Many, countless ideas I longed to see come to light.
Like a cat bowing over a bowl of cream, Arlo lowered himself to my chest. His tongue slithered free, teeth flashing.
My hands gripped the back of my head. The feeling of his tongue lapping the sticky residue of the fruit from my skin made me groan. I pinched my eyes closed but still recognised the throbbing of my cock and shadows which seemed to beat in tune with my heart.
He did not stop. Somewhere the knife and the pomegranate had been discarded for both his hands were on me. My greedy fingers reached behind his ass as he gripped my length and stroked it. His other hand scratched across stomach as though he longed to memorise each dip and peak with his touch. Seeds and spit shone across my stomach. Arlo marvelled at his feast, lips stained red and swollen. There was something feral about his stare, as though he was lost in thought for a moment.
“Have you had enough?” I asked.
Arlo snapped out of his mind, his smile bright, and replied, “Far from it.”
I sighed heavily, shivering, as Arlo dipped back down upon me and continued his meal. With Arlo, there was not much room to think of anything but him and the now. Humans should be powerless, but this one defied such concepts.
There was a small concern, eating away at the back of my mind, that attempted to convince me that Arlo filled his mouth with my skin because he did not wish to speak. The conversation had ended abruptly. If I had not been distracted by the kitchen knife and the juices that dried upon my body, perhaps I would have asked what had caused the sudden end.
