“Ah,” he said. His eyes darted from my nakedness to yours, spying the juncture where we intersected and your body keeling like a boat about to capsize.
“May I join you?” Lucian asked gamely.
“No,” I growled.
“May I watch then?”
“No. And close the door.”
His gaze lingered on your prone body as wanton pleas escaped your lips, my name murmured among them in your throaty timbre. I added a second digit and pushed into you, perhaps to demonstrate my dominion over your body. The cadence of your cries escalated in their urgency as your channel cinched around my fingers.
“Lucian,” I warned, not wanting to abandon you in this heady state of arousal or have you made self-conscious by his presence.
“Selfish,” he said bitterly and slammed the door behind him.
Meanwhile, you rocked your narrow hips to meet my fingers where they thrust into you. The fluid weeping from your cock made for an excellent lubricant. I gripped your shaft snugly, an assault on two fronts.
“Henri, this is…” you craned your neck and uttered something between a growl and a purr.
“This is what, my darling?” I wanted to know your every exaltation.
“Torture. Why haven’t you done this to me before?” You sounded wounded.
“I hadn’t earned it.”
You grunted and dug back against the pillows. I considered adding a third finger, but you were stretched taut already, and close to peaking, your body so finely tuned I could time my movements to your moans.
“That’s it, my darling,” I coaxed, “let me see you lose control.”
“Not fair,” you said in a wobbly voice. Your thighs shook and your skin glistened. Your silver hair was dark at the roots and matted to your forehead as you tore your head back and forth, utterly distraught. Your fingertips dug into the flesh of your thighs, abdomen rippling from your effort.
“What’s not fair?”
“I’m not going to last.” You moaned with tears in your eyes.
“The curse of youth.”
With my fingers still slick inside you, I took your cock deep into my mouth. Your body rippled like an eel. Such a young, supple thing. So smooth and pliant in my hands. My gratification in orchestrating your pleasure was immense.
“I don’t want this to end,” you confessed, torn between your warring passions—to culminate this sensation or to prolong it. I could surely sympathize. I sat up and stroked you on two fronts, until you’d abandoned yourself to your base desires, and it seemed you could take no more.
“Come for me, Vincent.”
Your back arched like a spring green sapling. Your cock twitched as ribbons of semen shot along your sweat-slick body. You shuddered from the release, and I drove my fingers in deep, relishing the feel of your throbbing channel as those delicious contractions mirrored your peak. My own cock ached to be inside you.
Watching you unravel was its own aphrodisiac. I only needed a few rough tugs to bring about my own climax. It was sudden, flooding my senses in a deluge of pleasure that robbed me of my breath and clouded my vision.
When the last tremor of bliss faded away, I opened my eyes to find you staring back at me with unflinching intensity, two bright points in an otherwise tumultuous sea. A smile broke across your face. A revelation.
I collapsed at your side and drew you close so that I could feel your heart beating against my own. My fingers tangled absently in your hair as your breath ghosted my skin. You had the scent of one freshly conquered.
“There is a strait between my islands where the sirens sing,” I said. “Where ships have wrecked and men have died, caught between the mercurial sea and its rocky shores.” I didn’t know why that thought had sprung to mind, except that I felt as helpless as a sailor with you in my arms.
“Am I the siren?” you asked quietly.
“And the rocks. And the sea. And the tempest that comes on suddenly, then breaks again into blue skies.” I grasped your hand and kissed your knuckles.
“Does this mean you’re coming with me?” you said. Your bladed eyes, cunning as they were, couldn’t mask your fear. You were terrified that I might say, no.
