Page 18 of First Snow
Arttu suppresses with all his might the impulse to free himself. He takes a few labored breaths through his nose, before he slumps in Faeling’s grip, making it even harder for himself to breathe. But submission is what Faeling is after, right?
“There you go,” Faeling says, but doesn’t release the pressure immediately. Instead he lets Arttu struggle to keep still for a few more seconds. It feels like an eternity. When Faeling finally loosens his grip, Arttu feels light-headed with the sudden freedom and his regained ability to properly breathe. But still Arttu is so aroused he’s sure he could come within seconds if Faeling would finally stop playing games and touch him already.
“Very good,” Faeling purrs. He’s so close that Arttu can make out the peculiar color of his eyes, one a deep green adorned with golden specks, the other a wolf-like amber. Arttu has never seen anything like it. “You checked ‘yes’ for kissing. Do you still want that?” Faeling continues.
Arttu nods. What’s wrong with the guy? First Faeling is choking him, now he’s asking for permission to kiss. Faeling’s behavior must be messing with his head, because Arttu finds he likes it a bit more than is professionally acceptable.
“I need your words, darling.”
“Yes, sir. I—I would like that.” Arttu stumbles over his words. Damn, can he sound any more eager?
But Faeling doesn’t seem to mind. He pulls Arttu in for a rough kiss, biting Arttu’s bottom lip to demand entrance. Arttu opens up for him readily, moaning into his mouth. Faeling takes his time, sucking the breath from Arttu’s lungs. Arttu’s first impulse is kissing back just as fiercely, and for a few seconds they’re both seeking to dominate the kiss. Then Arttu remembers why he’s here and gives in, allowing Faeling to tilt his head like he pleases. It doesn’t take long until a constant stream of moans is leaving Arttu’s lips. He can’t help it. This isn’t nearly enough, but it feels so good. He wants more of Faeling’s warm skin on his; wants to be wrapped in his scent and his touch.
Faeling pulls back, and Arttu feels immediately bereft. He chases Faeling’s mouth, uttering a disappointed noise.
Faeling chuckles. “I like how responsive you are.”
Arttu feels himself blushing. What an arsehole thing to say! As if he didn’t know how pathetic his neediness is. He just didn’t expect to be so affected by a bloody killer and his fucking mind-games.
“Thank you, sir,” Arttu grits out, not quite able to keep the venom out of his voice.
Faeling frowns. “And you’re very easily angered.”
Arttu doesn’t deign this with an answer. It wasn’t a question after all.
“I’ll have to spank this attitude out of you another time,” Faeling says, not without humor.
Huh? What does he mean, another time?
“Now come, before you combust on the spot.”
Faeling rises and helps Arttu to his feet, then leads him into the adjacent room by his hand and pushes him down onto the bed.
Arttu feels himself blushing again. It’s just unfair that Faeling looks utterly flawless, his thick thighs hugged by his slacks, and his slightly open shirt allowing a peek of his sculpted chest, while Arttu is a panting mess.
Faeling pulls a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. Arttu’s whole body locks up in apprehension. What the fuck?
“Are you okay with being restrained?”
There’s that caring demeanor again. It doesn’t fit at all with the image he has of Faeling. Arttu has to remind himself that one doesn’t have to be a sadistic psychopath to kill. There can be a million reasons why Faeling may have decided to get rid of three people, a taste for killing isn’t even the most likely one.
“Sure,” Arttu says, as if his heart wasn’t beating like crazy.
Faeling watches him for a moment with an unreadable expression. Then he shifts forward, straddling Arttu’s thighs and pinning his wrists above his head. Damn, Faeling is fast. It’s the kind of swift, smooth movement one sees in dancers and experienced practitioners of martial arts. Arttu hopes Faeling is the former.
“I want you to take a second and listen to your body,” Faeling says, his voice taking on a steely edge. “I want you to take a few slow breaths and then to tell me if you’rereallyokay with being tied down.”
Arttu bristles. He alreadysaidit was okay. But Faeling needs to make everything difficult. Arttu grits his teeth and breathes exaggeratedly. Faeling, the bastard, makes himself heavy and watches Arttu struggle to rein in his anger with dark glee.
“Now tell me: Would you like me to hold you down?”
To Arttu’s utter embarrassment, his cock twitches at Faeling’s words, smearing precome against Faeling’s chic, black suit pants. Arttu’s hips push upward on their own accord, and he groans at the delicious friction.
Faeling shifts and puts more weight on Arttu’s hips, effectively trapping him. Arttu can’t suppress another moan. He always liked this about sex with men, the equality in strength, having someone who’s able to manhandle him a bit—only he’s never had a partner as domineering as Faeling until now. Arttu hadn’t expected to like it quite so much.
“Okay, how about this,” Faeling whispers right next to his ear. “I already know you love being restrained, but do you want the handcuffs?” Faeling seems to ponder something; then he leans in so close that Arttu can feel his hot breath against his ear. “It’s okay if you don’t want the cuffs, you know? I won’t think any less of you.” He sounds like he means it.
Arttu rolls his eyes. “With all due respect,sir,I already told you I’m okay with it.” Arttu is a bit surprised to hear the dry humor in his own voice. He hadn’t meant to sass Faeling again; it just happened. To his even greater surprise, Faeling chuckles darkly. Shit, he’s sexy.