Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Then bit down, taking in the flavor of flesh until the flavor of flesh became the flavor of a bruise, of a mark, of complete and utter possession.
In their first meeting Ash had tried to hide a mark on his throat. A mark left by a dalliance, a meaningless fling, a nothing. Brand would leave his mark so that no other would eclipse it again, searing himself into his young Master’s flesh. Ash clutched at him, fingers grasping up weak, helpless handfuls of Brand’s sleeves, his very powerlessness only inflaming Brand more. As much as the way his young Master arched against him with his body shaking and his cock pressing hard between them; as much as the high, pleading, almost frightened cries of confused, vulnerable arousal that did terrible things to Brand. As much as the way those parted lips gasped out helpless sounds….
…but never once chose to say the word that would make that fear real, that would end this, that would tell Brand to stop.
No matter how he writhed, how he struggled, Ash held fast to him. No matter how deep Brand bit, how harsh his hands were as he stroked at his young Master’s flesh, tore his clothing open, left bruising, claiming marks of his fingers against ribs and hips and slim sweet thighs, Ash never stopped him.
He only pressed himself willingly into Brand, panting those delectable cries into his ear on wet breaths, as locked in this moment of desire as Brand himself.
Only when he came just short of tasting blood did he let go of that darkly bruised mark on Ash’s throat, standing out livid and promising against that pale skin, that racing and fluttering pulse. Almost hypnotized, Brand traced his fingers against that mark…then tumbled Ash back, spilling him to the bed in a tangle of disarrayed clothing and tangled, sweat-dampened hair.
Ash laid against the sheets, looking up at him with wet-sheened, wide eyes, their blue the darkness of the sea at night, swallowing Brand deep. How could his young Master look up at him with such trusting, needful eyes, and not understand how Brand would give anything for him? How could Ash lay beneath him so helplessly, so yieldingly, trusting that Brand would hurt him only as much as they both craved, and yet not see how Brand could devote himself to his service, to his needs, to his every trembling breath?
He pressed his fingertips to Ash’s lips again—and shuddered as that wet pink tongue darted out, tasting him. He trailed wet streaks down that lovely golden skin, making him glisten—then followed them with his mouth. One suckling, savoring kiss at a time, he tasted Ash: the peak of his chin, the hollow of his throat, the dip between his pectorals. The rise of his nipples, the arch of his ribs, the smooth sleek slope of his stomach, sucking in on a soft and pleasured gasp. The crest of his hip, as Brand drew his pajama pants down and threw them aside. The delicate and fragile crease where his thigh blended into his hip. The soft flesh just inside his knee.
The salt and musk taste of his cock, as Brand ran his tongue over its full length, then drew it into his mouth.
Ash’s fingers were soft and feverish in his hair, clutching, as his young Master moved beneath him—legs grasping at Brand’s shoulders, toes arching and curling, head tossing back and forth with little protesting mewls as Brand tasted every inch of him, felt the throb of his heartbeat resting on his tongue, drank every bitter-salt drop spilling from the tip of his cock. He teased those places he had learned could make his young Master scream, and relished the choked sounds as Ash struggled not to be heard by the entire house. Deeper he took Ash, deeper, until the round warm tip of his cock hit the back of Brand’s throat and he swallowed without thinking and Ash threw his head back and cried out Brand’s name, filling the room with his gasping, throaty voice. Brand felt that swelling, that pulse against his lips, that said this would be over too soon—and pulled back, stopping just short of giving his Master mercy.
Ash collapsed against the bed, looking up at him with soft, pleading keens, reaching for him with slender hands. Brand caught both those hands, kissing either palm, lingering…then transferred them both to one of his own, capturing them in his fingers, pushing them up over Ash’s head and pinning them to the bed. Ash looked a debauched and lovely mess, like this—his pajama shirt open and falling around him, his pants thrown away to leave him naked, his cock resting hard against his belly and dripping in clear, glistening streams, his hair a tangle and his eyes dilated and his nipples roused and hard and as pink as his flushed cheeks, his lips.