How he’d cried for this boy. No, not a boy. Not anymore.
Peter gasped, gripping Martin’s head, but didn’t push away, instead burying his fingers in the strands of Martin’s hair, rocking his hips ever so slightly.
Martin grinned around his mouthful.
“Yes,” Peter hissed, cupping the back of Martin’s head.
With a chuckle guaranteed to add vibration, Martin resumed showing Peter what a mouth could do.
Peter groaned, legs shaking.
The taste of Peter shot flames to Martin’s groin, the touch of shyness threatening Martin’s skilled moves. He longed to please, see his card-destined lover come undone by his touch. How had such a gentle soul come from a pirate background and remained so untainted by life? At least by Martin’s worldly standards.
When they’d met, Martin had been the sheltered village lad, Peter the well-traveled, who spoke several languages, read books for fun—had been the more sophisticated of the two.
They’d somehow switched places during their time in E’Skaara.
“I’m going to…” Peter gasped.
Oh, no, he didn’t. Martin pressed behind Peter’s balls, yanking his mouth back.
“No!” Peter whimpered, hips bucking.
Martin did his best not to laugh. Ah, how sweet Peter was, wanting, not quite bold enough to ask for release.
Martin rose to his feet, wrapped his arm around Peter, and slowly, slowly, brought him to the bed while maintaining a sensual play of tongue against tongue. He urged Peter onto the mattress, then climbed on top, supporting his weight on his arms.
Grinding against a firm thigh, Martin’s cock hardened to the point of pain. If he didn’t get relief soon… He opened his trousers and pulled out his cock to rub against Peter’s.
Peter brushed his hands lightly over Martin’s ass, then jerked his hands away. “May I?”
Laughing, Martin clasped Peter’s hand and returned it to the round globe of his ass. “You may do anything to me that you like.”
The time for words ended. Peter explored Martin’s body with nips, bites, licks, and kisses. Martin held back, not wanting to scare his reticent lover away with too much too soon.
His mind flashed to a cramped cabin, two young men twisted together on a tiny bunk.
How could this be Petran, here, now? When so long, Martin imagined him lost forever. But oh, how he ached for this man in his arms. Ached to bury himself to the hilt in Peter’s muscular ass, do what Martin hadn’t known to ask for in their youth.
Leave a lasting impression.
“I’ve not kissed anyone in seasons,” Peter whispered. “Not since you.”
Sadly, Martin couldn’t say the same. “Then I’d better make this good.” He claimed Peter’s mouth again, skimming his hands down Peter’s hard, sleekly muscled body, all plains and angles. A day’s growth of whiskers tickled Martin’s face.
He hadn’t brought any oil, not expecting to see his fantasies realized. Likely Peter kept cooking oil in the tavern but no leaving the bed to hunt.
Gathering the drops at the tip of Peter’s cock, Martin worked his hand around both their shafts, shoving into his hand.
“Wha…” Furrows appeared between Peter’s brow. “Oh,” he said on a sharp exhale. “I didn’t…”
Martin silenced him with a kiss. Rocking down, Martin met Peter’s upward thrusts, reveling in his scent, the feel of him, those fathomless brown eyes, tugging Martin down, where he might drown if not careful.
Normally, he’d practice the art of coupling, engage every lesson he’d been taught, to have those lessons returned, seeking release devoid of passion.
What Peter lacked in skill, he more than made up in enthusiasm, moaning out garbled words—some in what sounded like other languages—urging Martin on. No one ever responded so sincerely, shooting flames of lust straight through Martin.
Peter cried out, bucking in reckless abandon. Martin’s grip slid more easily. Oh, damnation! “Ah, ah, ah!” Lightning wracked his body, filling his mind with stars and light. Ecstasy coursed over him like a storm tide, leaving him winded, sated, and wrung out.
