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My body was on fire, and I knew—Iknew—that there was no way I could feel the sweet stretch of Aldor’s cock inside me, but fuck, I wanted it. I wanted him to hold my waist and rock that enormous cock into me. I wanted to feel every ridge of his dick pop against my rim.
Andfuck, I’d have to figure out how. The Thorzi could do miracles. Surely they could find a way for Aldor and me to be together.
He must’ve felt what I was thinking, the need radiating off of me, because he swept his hand through the slick. A second later, his long, thick finger penetrated me, his broad hand working between my legs.
Too fucking big, he was. His middle finger stretched to push inside me, but his thumb hooked over my cock, trailing a light stroke from root to tip.
“Good, Hiroki,” he mumbled against my neck.
That was it—good. I was a bundle of nerves and tingling pleasure and need. Aldor’s breath came sharp and hard in my ear, his hips beginning to stutter with each thrust.
I couldn’t take it. I reached down with both hands. It took two to squeeze around my own cock and give him something to thrust into.
With a groan, he slammed his hips into my cupped grip. All that come, spurting between my hands, I dragged right to my own dick, shivering at the feeling. The Thorzi were magic. While I jerked myself with one hand, I licked the rest of his spend off my hand.
How did it taste just like pineapples?
Aldor’s pleased rumble vibrated against my back, and when he slipped his hand down, adding his thumb and forefinger to my efforts, it pulled me apart.
I came, my muscles rigid with strain until it was too much and I curled up in front of him, my legs tucked up by my chest like I could hide from the onslaught of heat and need andhim.
And Aldor wrapped his enormous body around me, cradling me in the world’s best nest. I fell asleep to the feeling of his lips brushing the nape of my neck, soothing the spot where he’d bit me and calling me his own.
CHAPTER2
REASON FOR THE SEASON
An elf costume, he called it.
A fuzzy red thing with a twirly red skirt, all trimmed with soft white fur.
I called it a temptation I was incapable of ignoring.
Beau spun in front of me, letting his little red skirt flare wide, ending with a flourish and his hands wide. “Well? What do you think?”
“This is a part of some seasonal celebration among humans?” I didn’t want to take the chance on rudeness if it was supposed to be something solemn and important.
Beau waggled his head from one side to the other, then finally shrugged. “Sort of. There’s this whole thing about a guy named Santa Claus who decides if all the kids in the world are good or bad, and gives all the good children toys on the holiday.”
My eyes narrowed. Human traditions were usually benign, but once in a while they seemed quite more sinister than Beau would admit. The love holiday celebrated for a beheading victim and the one with the giant bunny that laid tiny eggs in people’s homes were considerably less sweet than Beau seemed to think. “And if they are bad children, then the claws?”
Beau burst into bright laughter, his golden hair glinting in the sun. “No, no claws, it’s Claus like . . . like something else. Not like”—he swiped his hand out in an approximation of a wild animal swiping claws at its dinner—“not like that. Although bad kids do get a lump of coal.”
“What is the purpose of this coal?”
“I think it was just intended as a kind of, um, reverse incentive. Be good and you get a toy, be bad and you get a black rock.” He waved dismissively and stepped closer. “That’s not important, though. We don’t need a holiday to give Archie presents. He already has everything he could ever need.”
That drew me up higher in my perch on the end of our shared bed. It was true. We provided well for our son. Archie, son of Vorian, had all he needed, and most everything he could want.
Kaelum’s smug friend Jax would have suggested that he had everything but a good warrior’s name, but he was wrong. Archie, or Archibald, was the name of Beau’s grandfather, a great man who had fought in the wars of humankind, and of whom Beau had excellent memories. Even better, his name had none of the attached ugliness of a Thorzi name. He did not have the name of anyone who had made his fathers’ lives harder, or names that made them remember misery.
Archie was perfect in every way. Pale blue like a Zathki, some of the architects of my wonderful life, and with the golden hair of his father, he could hardly have been more perfect. He had my blue eyes, but everyone had at least one imperfection.
I glanced around, realizing that he was strangely absent. Beau had just returned from his work at the tailor’s shop with Maria, and shown off his new clothes, his “costume,” but Archie was not with him. He often went with Beau to work, when he did not stay with me, but there was no sign of him.
There was nothing to worry about, obviously. If he hadn’t stayed with Maria, he was likely with his favorite grandfather, Petey, or the best uncle on all Thorzan, Kaelum. Everyone wanted their time with our perfect son. They doted and cooed and babied him, and it was perfect. My son would have every drop of love Beau and I had been denied as children, and whenever anyone suggested he would end up “spoiled,” I told them to shut up. Once, Beau had said it to Kaelum’s friend Jax, and it has been glorious.
The grinning bastard had been stunned, then apologized, and never repeated the nonsense. My son would be a fine warrior. Or he would be a tailor. Or he would be something else of his choosing. So long as he was happy, it mattered little.
