Page 36

The question paralysed me. Images surged through my mind unbidden—Flynn beneath me, my hands pinning his wrists, my fangs grazing his throat. The monster in me yearned to claim, to possess, to mark. To feed . But that path led to darkness. To blood, pain, and loss.

I forced those thoughts down, burying them beneath my practiced, hard-won control. Flynn deserved gentleness. Tenderness. Safety. Everything I wasn’t sure I could give him.

Insist you put your shirt back on because it’s cold up here.

Seb!!!!

His response made me smile, and the ache built between my legs. My fingers hesitated over my belt buckle, toying with the catch.

I could barely contain my excitement as another photo popped onto the screen.

Skin. So much skin. Flynn’s pyjama bottoms were now conspicuously absent, and so was his underwear.

Flynn’s hand rested on his cock, the base peeking out from beneath his thumb.

He was fully erect—though I doubt it was because of my humour. He’d been stroking himself.

I swallowed hard, my own arousal surging. This photo wasn’t enough. I needed to see more, all of him. I wanted to see him touch himself, watch as he brought himself to the edge.

My hand moved quickly to my belt buckle, unfastening it. I slid my trousers and underwear down, my hardened length springing free. It was already flushed, slick with a bead of precum which I quickly swiped before rubbing fast circles on the sensitive head.

I closed my eyes, imagining Flynn’s cock rubbing against mine. The sounds he’d make. The thought sent dark heat coiling through my veins, and I let out a low groan.

Fuck.

I had been enjoying touching myself so much that I hadn’t replied to his last message. One hand kept up its firm strokes while the other typed with manic haste.

Well, for one, I’d rip that naughty hand of yours far away from what it shouldn’t be touching.

A stream of those ‘emojis’ with flushed faces appeared on my screen. I took that as a win. Then:

Oh yeah?

I could practically hear the smirk in his voice, and it made me want even more.

I continued to stroke myself, my grip tightening as my imagination painted glorious pictures of what was happening in the room a few doors down.

Flynn’s body, his skin flushed with pleasure, his eyes closed in rapture.

I pictured him lying on his back, his legs spread wide, his hand moving in slow, languid strokes over his cock.

I imagined the way his lips would curl up into a soft smile as he touched himself, the way his eyelashes would flutter with each ragged breath.

His body arching off the bed as he reached the peak of his pleasure, his muscles tensed, his fingers digging into the sheets.

And I was there with him, my body pressed against his, my lips tracing the curve of his ear, my fingers intertwined with his as we reached the edge of oblivion together.

It was my turn to reply, and I’d already left it an age. I stared at the screen, fingers hovering over the keys. Five centuries of existence, and here I was, fumbling like a schoolboy over how to compose an erotic message. Poetry would be preferable to this modern dance of digital desire.

What would he want to hear? What would make him writhe between those sheets, make his breath catch? The thought of him waiting for my response, perhaps growing uncertain at my delay, spurred me to action. I had to trust my instincts, let the hunger I felt for him guide my words.

Yes. And then I’d worship you properly—on my knees, taking you so deep you’d never think of another’s touch again. I’d claim every inch of you.

Eyes glued to the screen, I waited anxiously for a reply that didn’t immediately come. Even more than another message, I’d trade anything for one more picture.

Preferably his face as he came, my name on his lips.

No wait, I wanted— needed —to see that cock of his in its entire glory.

My pace increased to frenetic levels, my toes curling.

But Flynn had gone silent, and I felt his absence like a missing tooth.

Just as I was about to message him again, I caught it—a tiny gasp, impossibly faint, muffled by multiple walls. It was as if my hearing had attuned to him and him alone, picking up the tremor in his breath, the subtle catch in his throat.

I reached for my phone.

Those sweet little sounds you’re making? I can hear them. You’re performing beautifully for me.

Want to hear even clearer?

My phone buzzed, and I didn’t even hesitate for a fraction of a second.

Obscene sounds burst out of the device, and I jammed speakerphone lightning fast. The wet, rhythmic slapping of skin on skin filled the room, punctuated by Flynn’s ragged breaths and desperate moans. It was a symphony of pleasure, and I was the captive audience.

“Fuck!” he said, sounding desperate, needy, wrecked . “ Sebastián .”

Lord help me, the way he said my name almost made me break down those walls to get to him.

I brought my palm to my mouth, mustering all the saliva I could, then returned my hand to my rock-hard length.

“Flynn,” I rasped, teetering on the precipice of release. “Don’t stop. Let me hear every moment.” The words reeled out of me. “You’re perfection.” And then, because desire clouded all reason. “Tell me—would you rather feel me deep inside you, or bury yourself within me?”

“God, yes —both.” His voice wavered, his breath hitched. “Everything. Anything. Whatever you want.”

His words sent a violent shudder through me. Such sweet surrender, such perfect trust—and the promise of claiming and being claimed in return. The depth of want that coursed through me was painful. Dangerous. This beautiful creature would be my undoing, and I found myself welcoming the fall.

Flynn’s sounds grew louder, more frantic. The slick slide of his hand over his cock, the hitch in his breath as he neared the edge. I could almost feel the heat of his body, the weight of him in my arms.

If only. If only. If only.

“Yes, just like that,” I whispered, my voice cracking with emotion.

“I’m right there with you, mi amor, holding you close.

” A strange pang of sadness hit me, and hot tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

This fantasy was the most exquisite torture—being so close to Flynn in my mind while knowing a few mere walls might as well be oceans between us.

“You are?” Flynn’s voice was barely audible.

“Of course. My hand is at your hip, drawing you against me,” I murmured, my words tumbling out in a rush.

“Every inch of you pressed to me. You’re burning like sunlight, Flynn.

My lips trace the curve of your neck.” My throat constricted, and I swallowed hard, trying to clear the lump that had formed.

How had Flynn, in such a short time, made me feel more alive than I had in decades?

More human. More vulnerable. “Can you feel it?”

“Yes,” he whispered with a tremble.

I closed my eyes, letting the fantasy consume me whole. “I’m breathing against your ear, grazing that perfect lobe with my teeth.” I could almost taste his pulse there, feel the delicate shell of it beneath my lips, that forbidden spot where I could so easily—

He gasped, a sharp, startled sound, and my body trembled in response, desperate for release.

“I’m pressing my fingers to your lips. First one, then another.

And you’re taking them into that perfect mouth of yours, your tongue a wicked temptation against them.

Such sweet torment.” Some deep part of me balked at my bold, explicit words, but I forced myself to continue.

My voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “You’re drawing them deeper, and I can feel every detail—the sharp edge of your teeth, the velvet of your lips. ”

The words had barely left my lips when I was rewarded with the unmistakable sound of Flynn sucking on his own fingers—a soft, slurping noise that made my cock ache impossibly harder.

Holy Lord Almighty.

Spitting once more on my hand, I closed my eyes and imagined my fingers in Flynn’s mouth, feeling the wet heat of his tongue as he swirled it around them.

Flynn let out a soft moan, and I could almost picture him lying in his bed, his body writhing with pleasure.

I wanted so very desperately to be there with him, to feel his skin against mine, to taste him.

As I listened to Flynn’s ragged breathing and the sweet sounds of his pleasure, my own body reached its breaking point.

I felt the familiar tingle at the base of my spine, and then lightning-hot bliss ricocheted through me, sending me crashing over the edge.

My hand moved swiftly, stroking myself to completion, and I felt my cock seize and spasm, releasing a cool, pulsing jet of cum onto my shirt.

I let out a low, ragged gasp, panting as the waves of pleasure washed over me, my body trembling with the force of my orgasm.

For a moment, everything else was lost, and all that existed was my imagined pounding of my beating heart and the sweet, sweet sound of Flynn’s pleasure.

“Flynn,” I rasped. “Did you hear what you did to me?”

“Yes.” His breathing increased. He was close.

“I’m touching you now,” I said. If only it were true. If only. “Rubbing my fingers against you. Do you like that?”

“Mmmm,” was the only reply.

“I’m inside you, Flynn. Claiming you completely. My fingers are taking you apart piece by piece, pressing just where you need them. ”

Flynn’s scream was sudden and raw, but it was swiftly muffled, as if he’d bitten down on his lip or clamped his hand over his mouth, the sound dying on his lips in a stifled gasp.

“Have you finished?” I asked, voice rough with longing.

He didn’t reply.

“Let me taste your pleasure,” I breathed. “Every precious drop.” My tongue chased phantom sensations, memories that weren’t mine to own.

More silence.