“Shhhhhh, Slayer. You promised.”
“No. I can’t. Please?—”
“You can.” He pushes two spit-slicked fingers in as he says it. My body rises up, and he catches me, kneeling tall against me as I arch my back, my feet pressing against his chest.
A hand slips from the pole, into my mouth, and I bite down to catch the scream.
“That’s it, Slayer. Take it. Take it.”
He pushes into me, and my body turns taut trying to keep it all inside. I want to scream. I want to tell him how much I love him. I want him to know what he’s doing to me, and it feels like I’ll explode if I can’t get it out.
He doesn’t care.
He’s locked me in here with this overwhelming pleasure, and he has no sympathy for my predicament. He only bangs me harder with his two perfect fingers, so I’m using every ounce of strength I have to hold back the cries.
“Good work,” he whispers. “You’re doing so well.”
Maybe he does care. A little.
He must, because finally, his hand wraps around my dick, and sweet relief floods me. His touch is divine, the perfect pressure, stroking over me, gorgeous. Then he clamps my cock down, twists his other hand, shoving another finger deep, all the way until I feel his palm cup my balls. He curls his fingers, squeezes my dick, my eyes roll back and my world turns white.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuck,” I hiss. And I’m trying so hard, really I am. But…“Fuck!”
His hand pulls back. “You broke your promise.”
“I’m so sorry, please don’t sto—fuck!”
He slams it back into me, and I’m beginning to think he’s not as concerned about my silence as he makes out. He pounds me with his fingers, deep and hard, giving my cock the barest attention, working me into a frenzy like I’ve never experienced before. I want him. Ineedhim. He’s the only thought in my overwrought mind. August. August.August.
Faster, firmer. When he pushes the fourth finger in, I lose the power of speech entirely. I can’t even beg him anymore. I can barely form a cohesive thought.
The pulsing of light when he fucks me has become so much a part of me now that it takes me a while to even realise it’s happening. That the red’s deepening to purple, expanding to green, closing blue on me and on August, rejuvenating in magenta. It’s at my lips. “Don’t stop. August, please don’t stop.”
I’ve never begged anyone like this before. It’s as if something primal takes over every time I’m with him. Like there’s something just out of sight, something beautiful, if only I had that little bit more…
He slams his hand into me, curls fingers, cups balls, sinks me deep into his hot and abiding mouth, and that’s it. The room explodes, blinding light, and we rip the next world open, a desperate cry wrecking me, a flood of pleasure choking me, August drinking me, hand fucking me, owning me, making me his until I fall to pieces on the floor, pulling him to me, sweaty and needy, desperate for his kiss, to have him in my arms, wishing I could pull him into me whole.
“I can’t stop,” I rasp. “I can’t. I want more of you. Ineedyou.”
The roof hatch slams open, silencing us. He lunges for my underwear, as if there’s any sort of decency to be had here. My head slams back against the floor in frustration.
It’s not enough. It’s not.
Every piece of me is screaming for more of him.
Now. Right now.
But the world’s ending. Our clothes land in a pile on top of us, thrown by the group, who are grumbling that we might have warned them, clomping their wet boots back on.
I pull my things on, half in a dream. I feel like most of me isn’t here.
He’s all I canthink about.
The flash of his chest before his shirt falls over it, his belt pulling his pants closed for good, his hair mussed, and his fingers so fucking capable.
“August,” I whisper. “I need more.”
He laughs my desperation off. “In the next world.”
