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Connor’s thumb moved, back and forth, back and forth. His other hand rubbed slow circles on his chest, the skin smooth and hairless, so different from Connor’s hair-dusted skin. “You understand, don’t you? What it means when you say you want me to fuck you? I’m not a servant boy at one of your musical evenings, Lord Reginald.”
Reggie shivered at sound of the honorific, and managed a nod that pressed Connor’s palm more firmly against his throat. “Yes.”
“What do you want?” The hand on his chest slid down, bold contact all the way, over his sucked-in stomach and lower, through the line of hair beneath his navel, until it curled firm and sure around Reggie’s cock.
Reggie gasped, and moaned a little, high in the back of his throat.
Connor’s eyes flared in response, but his hand started up a tortuously slow rhythm, and his voice stayed a low purr. “Do you want it like this? For me to stroke you? Play with you until you spill all over my fist? Or do you want to get on your knees for me? Play with yourself while you take me down your throat?”
Reggie tried and failed to swallow down another sound. He’d considered it – had considered more than that – but hearing it in Connor’s voice brought the image to life in vivid full-color inside his head. He’d never sucked anyone off before, had always been on the receiving end of that act. The thought of the rug fibers biting into his knees, and Connor’s fingers tightening in his scalp sent goosebumps breaking out across his arms and chest. Would he gag? Would it panic him? Bring his Sel captors rushing back to crowd out the present, until he was choking on the cock of a captor, ruthless and uncaring that he brought back up the water and stale bread they’d given him before? He…
Another brush of lips to lips, lingering this time, brief touch of a warm tongue to his lower lip. Reggie closed his eyes and swayed into it. He wasn’t with the Sels; his captors had never kissed him, never stroked his cock so sweetly as this.
“Still with me, sweetheart?” Connor murmured against his mouth.
They’d never called him pet names, either. He’d seen it as insulting when Connor first did it, but lunged at it like a lifeline, now. It wasn’t mocking; it never had been, not at all.
“Yes,” he managed.
Another kiss, deeper, lips fitting, harder pressure. Then Connor skimmed his lips along his jaw to his ear, where he whispered, “Or do you want me inside you?”
“Oh,” he murmured, unbidden, hands clenching on empty air.
“You want me to work you open nice and slow, and then give you my cock?”
Reggie tipped his head back, and Connor kissed his throat, his scar; sucked at it gently. “Yes,” he choked out. “I want – yes. I want you. Want you to – to come inside me. I want it to feel good, this time. I want–”
He wanted Connor to fuck the memories of his captors right out of him, so that penetration was no longer the stuff of nightmares. He wanted to decide when he took a man into his body; wanted to be the master of his own pleasure in that way.
Connor sucked hard and drew back with a wet smacking sound. “All right, darling. All right. I’ve got you.” He took both of Reggie’s clawed hands into his own and drew them to his waist. “You can touch me. I want you to.”
Reggie pulled back far enough to see his face, the crooked, encouraging half-smile he found there. Belatedly, he registered the roughspun fabric of Connor’s shirt beneath his hands, and then he gripped it tight, knuckles digging into the warm skin beneath. Connor breathed a quiet laugh, and Reggie’s gaze snapped to the source of the sound, to his strong throat, and the vee of exposed skin on his chest.
Touch him, he’d said. He wanted it.
And Reggie didn’t want to be the only one naked.
He found the hem of the shirt and slipped his hands beneath, his confidence returning. “Take this off.”
Connor’s brows quirked.Cheeky, his look said, reprimanding. But he said, “As my lord commands, and lifted his arms so Reggie could push the shirt up, up, up, and off over his hands. It fluttered down to the floor like a dropped leaf, and Reggie stayed a moment, hands on Connor’s wrists, and the steady pulse that beat there against his palms, their faces close, chests brushing when they inhaled together. His chest hair tickled Reggie’s nipples. A potent, masculine scent wafted from beneath his lifted arms, soap and heated, clean skin, a unique note that was simplyhim.
Reggie wanted him terribly.
“Kiss me.” It came out a plea rather than a command. “Will you kiss me? Please?”
Conner’s arms lowered around him. He cupped the back of his head and titled him to the angle he wanted. “Since you asked so sweetly,” he said in measured tones – and then all but lunged forward to fit their mouths together.
Here was the kiss he’d wanted, needed. Reggie let out a relieved moan that Connor swallowed down and then chased with his tongue, sliding through Reggie’s teeth, urging his mouth open wider. Sloppy, hurried, desperate kisses.
Reggie was panting by the time Connor drew back, and registered Connor’s rough laugh the same moment he realized he was rutting against Connor’s thigh, humping his leg like a dog.
“Yeah,” Connor said, sounding deeply pleased, “you’re ready, aren’t you? Come here, sweetheart. Against the table.”
Reggie would do anything to be calledsweetheartsome more. He went readily when Connor steered him around and helped him place his hands on the edge of the table. Turned his head, blindly seeking, and Connor rewarded him by fitting himself to Reggie’s back, kissing his cheek, the side of his neck, the corner of his mouth when Reggie made a wordless noise of entreaty. One hand settled on Reggie’s hip, and the other slid around to his front, tweaking at one nipple and then the other, teasing at the grooves between his abdominals.
“Connor…”
“I like when you say my name.” Connor nibbled at his ear, sharp little sparks of pain he then soothed with the flat of his tongue. “You should do lots of that, yeah?”
