“You’re not leaving this shed until you understand—” his lips found my nipple and my knees went weak. Only the wall and his body kept me upright. I didn’t know—hadn’t thought such a thing could feel likethat.
Vaguely, I was aware that the pathetic whimpers were probably mine. But God himself could be standing outside this shed waiting, and I wouldn’t have been able to hush them.
“You made your choice,” he muttered, switching to the other side to repeat the exquisite torture he’d provided the left.
Breaking off with a gasp, he dragged the shirt up and off entirely, dropping it on the floor of the shed without a care, before finding my sternum. “I tried to leave, to be a good person. But you followed me.”
His fingers worked on the buttons of my breeches with no hint of gentleness, no caresses, just inelegant want, even as he bit the soft skin just below my naval.
“You followed me here. Now you’re mine. You’re never going to feel unwanted or unseen again. Every single time I want you, you’re going to know about it. All day long. I’m going to tell you about it until you’re so drunk with lust that you’ll let me do whatever I dreamed of, fantasized about. And you’re going to thank me for it.”
He tugged my breeches down and swallowed my cock like he’d been planning for it his entire life. Dark, hot eyes met mine, throat bobbing, and that was all it took. A second in the wet warmth of his mouth and I spilled without a second’s warning.
The world darkened for a moment before returning in little golden sparks. My breath was a harsh, ragged echo in the shed as I fought for air, my lungs seemingly incapable of finding it.
Xander’s groan was the only thing that kept the shame at bay. At least until he pulled back, gulping, before whispering, “Good. Again?” as he traced a finger around the tip of my still half-hard cock. “Say yes.”
I nodded, incapable of speech between panted breaths. It was quite possibly a lie, I’d never peaked that hard in my life. But I would have died before giving him a different answer, before disappointing him.
His approach was gentler this time, nuzzling and kissing before he took me back in his mouth. Somehow, the sensation was even more incredible the second time. Perhaps because Ihad more than a second to enjoy it. The combination of his soft tongue twisting wickedly and the lust in his eyes was quickly enough to bring me back to full stand.
Soft hands traced my thighs, soothing at first, then dragging blunted nails along the skin there as I rapidly approached another peak. One hand slid between my legs to cup my balls before the other rounded the back of my leg. I realized his plan the second before he executed it, but no amount of time could have prepared me for the reality of a finger sliding between my cheeks, tracing a circle around that entrance.
Another peak ripped from me, spilling my very essence into his waiting mouth in great shuddering breaths.
He shushed my whimper at the chill when he pulled back and stood. With uncooperative and sluggish fingers, I reached for the buttons of his breeches. He batted me away, making quick work of them himself. Xander’s breaths were even harsher than my own when he grabbed his proud, ruddy cock and began working it in quick, short strokes.
The efficiency was beautiful. I couldn’t help but hope that one day I would know how to touch him that well. I could be the one to bring him to a swift climax or draw it out until he begged—whichever pleased us both.
With a shuddering gasp, he came, his seed decorating my thighs, my abdomen, my cock. And then that same hand—the one that had worked his member to such beautiful effect—found mine again.
It was too much, too hot, too slick, too sensitive, too wrung out. My hips moved away of their own volition. “Shhh, let me,” he murmured, as he gently painted his spend across my skin.
The sight, the understanding, it was the single most arousing thing to ever happen to me in an impossibly long morning of most arousing things. He finished with a quiet, pleased, “There. Mine,” before catching my cheek with his clean hand andbrushing away tears I hadn’t noticed as he pulled me down for a kiss.
When we broke apart, he eyed me, his gaze heavy as he traced the ruined lengths of me. I was sticky and covered with darkened bruises. My shirt probably draped over a rusty scythe. My breeches were crumpled at my feet. And I could only begin to guess about the state of my face and hair.
“Was it too much?”
I was aware enough—of him, nothing else was capable of penetrating my mind—to catch the slightest note of vulnerability in words. “No—well, yes, but in the best possible way.”
A little tension leached out of his shoulders and his forehead found mine. “I should have asked first.”
“There’s nothing you can do that I don’t want, Xander. Nothing you can give me that I won’t take and nothing you can ask of me that I won’t give.”
I felt his eyelashes flutter but when I glanced up, they were squeezed shut. A single tear slipped out and I reached up to brush it away before kissing his forehead.
“You can’t rid yourself of me now,” I whispered.
Thirty
KILMARNOCK ABBEY, EDINBURGH - JULY 17, 1816
Xander,
I do not understand your concern about my friend with the sheep. They are very fond of their sheep.
Cee does not listen to you any more than I do, so that is a fruitless request.
