That sound Corin made, God, like he wanted to eat something, and he yanked Aster close at last, wrapping an arm around him so he was bent backward with his head tipped at a painful angle.
“More,” Corin said, eyes flashing.
Aster’s chest rose and fell too quickly with his shallow breaths, and he swallowed down a weird little bubble of panic.
Corin bent his head, down, down, tilting Aster even further back until he went dizzy, he’d fall—and pressed his face to Aster’s throat, open-mouthed, searing hot.
“More,” he growled, voice gone so low it didn’t sound human any more.
“Oh, oh, I don’t—” A nip to his Adam’s apple had him flailing and crying out. “More, all right, I—my tight ass. Oh, God, Corin, please, you’ll get it, get it wet first?” Corin growled again and bit down, and everything went a little reddish and cloudy as Aster’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he was really falling—no, not falling. Being lowered. To the floor, Corin’s arms around him and his heavy body pressing him down, a massive weight between his legs.
He wanted to keep giving Corin what he wanted, terrified that if he stopped, so would the hands sliding over his chest and the mouth on his throat, biting and sucking and tormenting him with teeth that felt sharper than a human’s. But his mind only gave him a series of fractured images: his clothes torn, Corin kneeling over him, searing pressure inside him, a dragon’s heavy heat on him and cold floor beneath him and being pinned between.
He couldn’t organize it into words, and all that came out was, “Please do what you said you’d do. Earlier, what you said. Please.”
Corin lifted his head from his throat, hands resting on Aster’s hips. When they flexed, he could swear he felt the slight prick of claws. And his eyes…those red flickers behind his pupils weren’t Aster’s imagination.
“What I said I’d do,” Corin repeated. “The part where I open you up slowly while you beg? Or the part where I hold you down?”
“Yes,” Aster said.
The grin that won him had a feral edge to it that promised more than he’d bargained for. But then Corin—knelt up and moved off of him, leaving him bereft and cold and—
“I’ll give you one out of two. You’re going to ride me,” Corin said before he could muster a protest. “Strip for me. I’m going to watch.”
And then he lay down on his back, careless of the rough flagstones, cock standing up straight like a knight’s lance, and crooked a beckoning finger.
ChapterEleven
“Are you—you can’tbe serious,” Aster stammered, startled out of his fugue of obedience by Corin’s incredible nerve. Did he really think Aster would simply, what, strip for him like a paid whore and then—impale himself onthat? There were limits!
The thought of letting Corin use him left him breathless with desire. But using himself for Corin’s pleasure, climbing on and riding him?
That also left him breathless with desire, damn it all, but he hated himself for it.
Not bothering to answer, Corin slid a hand behind his head, displaying an upper arm as thick as Aster’s thigh to mouthwatering advantage. His eyes flickered, perhaps a reflection from the fire in the hearth…and perhaps not. He lifted the other hand, lazily stroking his cock from tip to root, lingering to play with his bollocks.
Aster’s hands were moving too without any conscious input, undoing his trouser buttons, with his breath coming faster, his cock painfully stiff, a strange piercing ache behind his bollocks and between the cheeks of his ass. He’d removed his boots when he came inside, and his trousers and socks peeled down easily, leaving him only in his drawers from the waist down. Corin’s eyes were truly alight now, red slits in black. Aster slid his hands under the hem of his shirt, and he hesitated.
Strip for me. I’m going to watch.
Distantly, he knew no one spoke to Lord Cezanne’s son that way, even a disregarded and mostly useless younger son. He oughtn’t to allow it.
But no one from court could see them now. Only Corin could see him. And it wouldn’t be enjoyable for him to watch someone simply pull a shirt off willy-nilly, would it? So he toyed with the hem, lifting it with one hand, sliding the other hand teasingly over his own stomach.
Corin’s low growl vibrated the air.
Aster tipped his head back and pushed the shirt up to the middle of his chest, sliding the other hand up. The chilly air brushed over his nipples. Had they always been this sensitive? Or were they responding to Corin’s attention? Because he wasn’t looking at Aster’s face anymore, eyes fixed avidly on his chest.
“Pinch them, Aster.” His deep voice wrapped around Aster like smoke. “One and then the other.”
He winced. His flat, muscular chest had small nipples—not a lot of flesh to pinch. Of course he didn’t strictlyneedto obey, but…
He pulled the shirt up even more until the fabric bunched around his neck. The other thumb and forefinger went unerringly to his right nipple and pinched it, gently at first, circling around, squeezing. Little sparks of sensation radiated out and shot down, seeming to pool between his legs, increasing that bizarre tightening and stabbing feeling with every touch.
The tender skin grew oversensitized almost to the point of pain, pebbled and sore, as he kept pinching and pinching, but Corin hadn’t told him to stop, and somehow it felt even better this way—knowing this wasn’t for him. Those soft gasps he let out every time he dug his finger and thumb in couldn’t be pleasure, could they?
“Stop,” Corin said. “Enough.”
