Folly’s slick hole seizes around Yarrow’s cock, embracing him with exquisite heat. He’s so tiny and tight, but he opens so eagerly. Yarrow seats himself in a single stunning thrust. His own groan mingles in harmony with Folly’s.
Yarrow waits, eyes wide and ravenous for every detail of trembling flesh, until Folly relaxes. Then Yarrow moves.
The mechanics are the same as bedding a fae. But fucking Folly feels different, because of who Folly is. There’s something so foreign about fucking a man he cares about.
Tugging the rope, Yarrow murmurs, “You’re ruining me, little human.”
Folly stretches out like a gift. “What does that mean?”
Yarrow fucks deep into him. “It means I’m already dreaming of the next time I get to fuck you.”
“Oh. That’s good,” Folly says, words hitching.
Already close, Yarrow chases his own orgasm. There’s no reason to delay, not when Folly feels so fucking good around him. The bedding tangles, damp with sweat and spilled oil. Skin slaps together faster. More sweat gleams at Folly’s temples, and Yarrow’s already addicted to the rising scent.
He stops, fully sheathed in his perfect little human, and shudders into orgasm. As if each tiny thrust drives his seed further inside Folly. He feels the release from his tightening balls to his tensing shoulders, to his viselike grip on the binding rope.
“Spirits, you’re perfect, all tied up for me,” Yarrow rasps. Then starts moving again.
Folly blinks, muddled. “You aren’t done?”
“I finished, but I’m not finished, if you know what I mean.” Yarrow winks. “I usually go two or three rounds.”
“Is that a fae thing?”
Yarrow ruts his still-hard cock into Folly. “I think it’s a satyr thing. But I’ve never dared ask my mother to confirm.”
“Would she be mad?” Folly asks.
Yarrow shudders. “Worse. She would answer.” He leans down and kisses Folly. “Enough about my mother. Now it’s your turn.”
He withdraws, flips Folly over onto his knees, and drives back in. Covering him, surrounding him. Marking him inside and out, binding him closer than any curse.
“Can you come like this?” Yarrow pants. “Just from my cock, without me even touching you?”
Folly whines.
Yarrow caresses his heaving chest. Twists a nipple. “You can, I know you can, you’re so perfect for me.” He winds his hand in Folly’s hair, holds him down, and Folly’s breath rises high and thin.
Folly shakes, tightening with his release.
His choked-out moan drives Yarrow into his second orgasm. Even more exhilarating than the first.
Yarrow withdraws, and Folly’s sweet little hole gapes open a moment before winking shut. Pearly cum beads against his rim. Yarrow thumbs the reddened rim, entranced, and Folly whimpers. Pushes into his touch.
Yarrow’s still hard. Spirits, he wants Folly so much, he could come four times. Forty times. But right now, he has other plans.
He drops onto his side and pulls Folly close. “How was that?”
Folly’s breath comes in deep gasps. His eyes are glassy with bewildered amazement. “All right, yes. Fine. You’re incredible.”
“No, you are,” Yarrow murmurs, and kisses Folly’s cheek. His brow. The top of his curly head. The little human is bonelessly relaxed against him. His bound wrists press against Yarrow’s chest.
Exactly where he ought to be.
When they wake, the binding has diminished to thirteen feet.
Chapter 19
