Despite the impressive number of ruddy green inches revealed, Corin had still more, and how thick would that be all the way down, God, it had to be as big around as Aster’s forearm, and then there would be his heavy balls, and his muscular thighs, and curly hair that would match the jet-black of the hair on his head and his chest, and…oh, God, that gasping, high-pitched sound had come fromhim.
“That’s the sound you’d make when I opened you up,” Corin growled. “Isn’t it? Fucking say it.”
Eyes fixed helplessly on that massive cock, big enough that even Corin’s huge hand barely kept it in check, what could he do but choke out, “Yes, it is, please!”
Corin ran his hand all the way up again, and now Aster could see the lower part of his shaft. Darker green there, and somehow…more textured than a human’s? Were there scales? Maybe. That didn’t look like the skin of Aster’s cock.
His fingertips itched with the urge to trace those double ridges and to see if that skin felt rough or smooth or hard or soft, to taste…which he couldn’t do with his hand, could he? The slap of skin on skin and the scent of sex filled the room, making Aster’s head spin. He didn’t want to beg Corin to let him lick his cock, did he? That wasn’t in his nature. That neediness, that desperation. His previous lovers had complained about his lack of enthusiasm.
God, but he couldn’t touch Corin. He’d promised. But his hands were free. He could touch anything else he wanted.
One hand flew to his own cock, palming and gripping through his damp trousers, too eager to try to open them. Aster arched up, moaning, eyes slipping shut at the relief of it despite how much he didn’t want to miss a second of this. Of Corin kneeling over him, tall and broad enough to blot out the light from the windows, gazing down at him avidly as if he didn’t need to see, or think about, anything but Aster to get himself off.
Frantically groping his own cock and balls, squeezing, wishing he could get his hand down to push lower between his legs, he was so close—and then Corin groaned, yanked the loose folds of his shirt over the head of his cock, and bent in half, shoulders shaking.
God fucking damn it, he’d covered up right when he—oh, God, he’d come, Aster had been the one to make Sir Corin of Saumur, famed dragon knight and victor of a hundred battles, spend every drop of his sweet, salty—Aster cried out as a second climax knocked him nearly unconscious.
The fabric under his hand wasn’t just damp now, but soaked. And Aster might never be able to breathe again, all the wind knocked out of him, lungs laboring. His heart raced like he’d run up the whole mountain.
He needed to open his eyes. Say something.
And please, please God let it be charming and witty and debonair this time.
Aster opened his mouth, and all that came out was something like “Uhhh.”
Well. So much for that. He didn’t have the strength left to try again. And the eye-opening thing really had to be abandoned, unfortunately. He’d have loved to know what a post-coital Corin looked like, but it simply wasn’t in the cards. He seemed to be sinking down into the bed, deeper, farther, spinning…
Snow tapped gently against the windows; the force of the storm must have been abating, because it’d been banging and howling earlier. Both of their breaths sounded very loud in the relative silence, a raspy melody and harmony, gradually slowing. The bed dipped as Corin took his knee off, and Aster managed an incoherent murmur of protest.
Somehow Corin must’ve understood what he meant by the whiny tone alone, because he laughed softly and said, “Nap, Aster. No argument. I won’t go far.”
I want you to go so not-far that you’re wrapped around me with your cock up my ass and your hand around my throat, like you promised.
Probably luckily, that came out as a little moaning mumble. Reality had started fading away, though the spinning sensation had only increased. Fucking brandy.
“Sleep,” Corin said, and Aster did.
ChapterEight
Tugging a blanket overAster and leaving him there alone, all sprawled out and sticky and flushed and sweet, had to have been one of the noblest sacrifices Corin had ever made.
Not that he’d made all that many, truth be told. He much preferred winning to martyrdom.
Still. He lingered for a moment, finding a clean pair of trousers that also had all the necessary buttons, listening to Aster’s soft breathing and shamelessly savoring the intertwined scents of roses and sex. He knew damn well Aster’s murmurings had been pleas for him to stay. The tone, for one, but also simple inference.
Or perhaps it’d been his own desires projected onto Aster.
With one last look from the doorway, he forced himself down the stairs, taking them several at a time.
Bloody hell. He regretted what they’d done. Not quite done. Whatever. Of course he did, because Aster had been too drunk to really know what he wanted.
Worse than that, Corin couldn’t be sure how much of his desire had crawled, dark and twisted, from the ugly part of his nature that wanted to punish his former fiancée and fuck her into submission in equal measure. He wouldn’t touch her even if he could, no matter how often he’d fantasized about her coming back to him on her knees.
But he could have Aster. If Corin seduced and debauched her younger brother, how she’d feel if she knew…the sick thrill of the thought left him dizzied and nauseated and hating himself.
And yet his blood sang through his veins and his nerves fizzed, and that had nothing to do with his rage or his desire for revenge.
Shimmering blue eyes, wide and fringed with red-blond lashes even longer than Belinda’s. Long, slender limbs, an ass that fit perfectly in his hands and in which his cock wouldn’t fit at all without significant and extended effort. That wide pink mouth, gasping out Aster’s orgasms.
