But nothing happened.
He was there.
Right fucking there, balls tight and pulsing, and yet…
Nothing.
Something was wrong.
Sariel hadn’t stopped or slowed down, and new cracks erupted across his face and shoulders. He squeezed Seymour’s thighs greedily, and he caught Seymour’s gaze and winked.
He fuckingwinked.
“Oh, motherfuckin’ goddammit!” Seymour groaned, writhing impatiently. He had no idea how, but he was certain Sariel was responsible for him not being able to get off. What had been delicious bliss was now sinful torture, the previous tension burned like an inferno, and he knew now exactly what this was.
His punishment.
Seymour sobbed and squirmed, but there was nowhere to find relief. The tight grip of Sariel’s mouth and wriggling tongues were inescapable, and Seymour slapped the headboardin frustration. He tried to will himself to orgasm, but he couldn’t break whatever hold Sariel had over him.
His skin prickled with sweat, chills ran all over his body, and his heart thumped harder and harder until he thought it might explode. The ache was soon bordering on a new level of agony he’d never known, and the ongoing pleasure did nothing more than add to the overwhelming torment.
“Please,” he pleaded, not recognizing his own voice, as ragged and desperate as he sounded, as he went on. “Please, please,fuck, please, Daddy. I need to fuckin’ come.”
Sariel grunted.
It didn’t sound as if he believed Seymour.
“Please,” Seymour tried again. “I’ll be good. I’ll be so fuckin’ good for you. Please, please. I’ll be fuckin’ perfect, just let me fuckin’ come. Just let me fuckin’—”
There.
It was as if a switch had been flipped, and the torturous pressure vanished instantly. Seymour gasped in a quick breath, and before he’d even had a chance to exhale, he came.
Pulse after pulse left him yowling, his hips trembling as he spilled down Sariel’s throat. His mind spun, and his vision sparked with bursts of fireworks as his head and shoulders lurched off the bed. He couldn’t believe how his loins throbbed from being denied for so long, each wave of his climax drawing out a sob he swore was being pulled directly from his very soul.
The relief danced with pain, somehow still sweet and yet overwhelming, and Seymour let out one final cry before sagging back against the bed. His lashes fluttered as he panted, trying to get enough oxygen back into his lungs to power his brain.
“Daddy,” he murmured, limp and exhausted, and he stared dumbly at Sariel. It was like seeing him for the first time, especially since the thought of Sariel being an absolute god in the bedroom hadn’t occurred to him.
Okay, so ithad, but to say Sariel exceeded any and all expectations was a vast understatement. It would have been more accurate to say that Sariel had completely decimated them, set the remaining bits on fire, and then stomped them into ash.
Sariel’s human mask was nearly gone now, flashes of the golden rings peeking through what was left of his face. The skin on his left shoulder had fallen away to reveal his countless eyes, but they were no longer set in smooth tan skin.
They were set in a mass of writhing, sinewy golden flesh. It resembled muscle, but only if each strand of said muscle could wiggle like a worm on the end of a hook. It was oddly mesmerizing, and Seymour had no idea if what he was seeing was truly one solid piece or if it was several individual parts moving together.
Like a bunch of snakes tangled up in one of those mating balls.
The eyes were all focused on Seymour, and Sariel smiled—well, as much as he could—as he said, “Did I succeed in bringing you pleasure?”
“So much fuckin’ pleasure,” Seymour gushed. “I might need your help trackin’ down my brains ’cause I just nutted ’em all across the floor.”
Sariel laughed, nuzzling Seymour’s thigh. “I am glad you enjoyed it.”
“Holy fuck balls.” Seymour ran his hands over his face. His pulse continued to race, and he groaned noisily. “I… I don’t even have the words. It was amazing. Even the teasin’. Okay,especiallythe teasin’.”
“I did warn you.” Sariel grinned.
He looked downright smug.
