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ChapterOne
Dushka probably thought he would wake me up by nudging my thighs apart and dragging his warm, wet tongue over my hole as I lay sprawled on my belly in our bed. I definitely reacted to his teasing with a moan, my morning-hard cock going harder than it already was under me. But I was already awake, even if I had been dozing.
I pretended my older lover was the one who had roused me from sleep—and aroused me in other ways—all the same, squirming as his probing tongue poked at me and his own, deep rumble of desire joined with mine.
“Good morning, sweet ass,” Dushka purred against my flesh, making me grin into the pillow. “You’re looking as fresh and delicious as the juicy apples we’ll be having for breakfast.” He kissed one of my cheeks, then the other, then said, “And I want to take a bite out of you just as badly.”
I laughed outright, but that sound turned into a yelp as Dushka did exactly as he’d said he would and bit down on my right ass cheek. He didn’t just bite, he locked on and sucked hard, making me squirm and hump against our bed to combine pleasure with the pain. I liked a little of both sometimes. They each took me to different places. The human body was capable of amazing things.
I also knew exactly what Dushka was doing.
“Such a beautiful, sweet ass,” he murmured, a gruff note to his voice as he pulled back, leaving me exposed and cold from neck to thighs for a moment. “I’m going to miss it.”
My throat squeezed with sentiment and anxiety, affection and expectation, all rolled into one…right before Dushka lifted my hips, pushed my legs wide, and thrust his slicked cock deep inside of me with a long, slow stroke.
I let out a loud moan against the initial pain of the intrusion and fisted the pillow as my body tilted to the angle Dushka wanted me. It was exactly the angle I wanted to be in—ass up, head down, Dushka adjusting in me so that he could thud directly against my prostate over and over with short jolts that had me swimming in unfulfilled pleasure in no time.
“That’s it, my wicked little pup,” Dushka coaxed me on with in a breathless voice. “You like it when I milk your spot with my cock, don’t you.”
I could only respond with a throaty whimper as he kept up with the action for a few more thrusts, then switched to longer, slower thrusts that filled me and had me shaking with the need to come.
“Where are you going to find someone to fuck you into a quivering mass like this in the Old Realm, my boy?” Dushka went on. His voice was still gruff, but I heard the tenderness, the worry, and the affection underneath his wolfishness. “Where are you going to find someone to make you feel this dirty and this happy at the same time?”
My heart swelled and throbbed along with my cock. Where indeed? No one in the Old Realm could hold a candle to Dushka in my heart. No one knew how to fuck me just so or how to have me whimpering and dripping and wanting to cry out so loudly that I’d have to bury my face in the pillow—the pillow that smelled like him—to keep from waking half the settlement?
“That’s it, my boy, my pup,” Dushka purred, pushing in deep, holding himself there, and reaching under me to stroke my cock. “You like it when a dirty old man like me uses you for his own pleasure, I know you do.”
My heart lurched again, filling me with more sensations than the way he fisted me and pushed me closer to orgasm. Dushka was no more a dirty old man than I was a fresh-faced young boy. He wasn’t even forty yet, and I’d gained more experience since coming into the forest than any of my friends and fellow Sons of the Cities knew about. Mostly because Dushka liked watching other men fuck me—which he’d discovered at the meeting in Gravlock a year ago, when Neil and I had fucked in front of the other leaders—and I liked him watching me be used that way—which I’d discovered at the same time, with Neil.
But right from the day Karpov the slaver had sold me into Dushka’s bed, there was a special bond between us. No science in the world could explain what it was, but from the moment we both laid eyes on each other, from the moment he grinned at me—like he already knew all of my darkest fantasies and I already knew he wasn’t as big and scary as he wanted everyone to believe he was—we’d taken to each other.
“How far can you shoot that cum of yours, pup?” Dushka asked, rocking back and using the leverage to bring me with him so that I sat on his cock as he fucked into me and stroked me. “Can you paint the headboard with your juice?”
Part of me wanted to laugh at his reference to juice. But again, the rest of me knew his real intention, knew what he actually needed from me.
I grunted with pleasure in time to his tight thrusts and the motion of his hand, feeling my impending orgasm work its way through me. My sounds got louder and more desperate as it started to build, and as soon as the lightning shot through me, I cried out and let myself go with it.
My cum spattered the headboard, just like Dushka wanted. For whatever reason, I was a shooter, not a dribbler. Dushka and I had had fun with that in the past, but now, as he milked the last seed from me, there was nothing silly about it.
As soon as my body gave up its tension as my orgasm subsided, Dushka picked up the pace of his thrusts, almost keening as he closed his mouth around the point where my neck met my shoulder, leaving his second mark on me. I hugged his arms as he hugged me, closing my eyes and reveling in the feeling of his hard body wrapped around me, taking pleasure and giving me so much more than anyone who didn’t know what it was to love could realize.
I knew he was close when he pulled out, and sure enough, as soon as he left my body and moved closer to the headboard—he was more of a dribbler than a shooter—he let go and added his cum to mine as it bled slowly down the carved wood over the place where our heads had lain together for over a year and a half now.
After it was done, he collapsed back, taking me with him and wrapping his large body around mine. I was beyond content to nestle into his embrace, catching my breath and staring at the mess we’d made on the headboard. It wasn’t a mess, not really. It made me smile, and I leaned my head against Dushka’s shoulder for a moment, feeling sentimental.
“You’re not going to wash that off for a whole year, are you?” I asked quietly, twisting just enough to smile up at him. “You’re going to leave that gross spunk all over the place where you sleep because you’ll miss me.”
“Ugh.” Dushka squeezed me tighter and screwed up his face. “You’ve turned me into a sentimental old fool. The me I was two years ago would be disgusted over something so maudlin.”
I laughed and twisted more so that I could sit with Dushka in my embrace, reversing our rolls just a little. “You’remysentimental old fool, I said, stroking my hand along his stubbly cheek. “And you always will be.”
Dushka grunted and frowned, a big, grumpy bear who was pouting because his favorite toy was going away.
I laughed, leaning in to kiss him deep and lingeringly. Dushka’s taste and scent were so familiar to me now. His big, gruff persona was just that, a mask he wore. He was a sweetheart underneath his tough, wolf exterior.
He was my sweetheart.
“I’m coming back, you know,” I told him leaning back and studying his face with my eyes and hands for a moment. “In one year, when this healer’s course is over, I’m coming back to you.” He glanced down slightly, so I added, “Because I love you, Dushka.”
