Page 37 of Hallowed & Haunted
Niillas takes in Sander’s furniture, the bookshelves lining the small living room, and the too-fancy coffee machine, a birthday present from his aunt.
“Nice place,” Niillas says. “It smells like you.”
“What?”
A pink hue spreads across Niillas’ high cheekbones. Is he blushing?
“It smells like you. Cinnamon and blood orange. Incredibly nice.”
“You like how I smell?”
With a low growl, Niillas is on him, crowding Sander against the frame of the kitchen door and burying his nose against Sander’s neck.
“To say I like it is an understatement. I could spend weeks wrapped around you, just soaking up your scent.”
“Oh god,” Sander moans, going boneless in Niillas’ embrace. “We could—we could take a shower until the coffee is ready.”
“You haven’t even started the coffee yet,” Niillas teases, but keeps nibbling at Sander’s neck, driving him slowly insane.
“You could join me,” Sander mumbles, reaching for the coffee machine to start grinding the beans, but getting sidetracked by Niillas biting down gently on the soft spot where neck meets shoulder. “More…eco-friendly.”
“Environmental consciousness,” Niillas rumbles. “I admire that.”
And Sander realizes he needs to get Niillas naked far more urgently than he needs food or coffee right now.
“Shut up and follow me.”
He slips from Niillas’ embrace, grabbing his hand, and pulling him toward the bathroom. To Sander’s relief, Niillas follows willingly, eyes gleaming with delight, and a darker promise that Sander will pay for his boldness later in the most delicious ways.
The bathroom is small but modern, and Sander turns on the spray before he can lose his nerve, fumbling to adjust the temperature. When he turns around, Niillas is already taking off his clothes, and Sander’s breath catches in his throat, because Niillas is a work of art—not gym-toned abs, but powerfully builtlines and strength that testify to real physical work and genuine skills on the ice.
“See something you like?”
“God, you’re beautiful.”
Clumsy with need, Sander pulls off the borrowed hoodie and his shirt, feeling slightly inadequate next to Niillas perfection. But he won’t let his awkwardness ruin this; he desires Niillas too much.
He shrugs out of his jeans and underwear next, but when he reaches for the collar with the pentagram, Niillas catches his hand.
“Can you—can you keep it on?”
Sander feels himself blushing, flustered, but turned on at the same time.
“I look silly.”
“You look sexy,” Niillas rumbles, pulling him towards the shower. “You wear this slutty little thing like you’re the prince of hell.”
“Slutty?” Sander splutters, even though he’s more aroused than ever before, and Niillas bites Sander’s neck right next to the collar, which somehow intensifies the sensation.
“Keep it on for me?”
Niillas licks the abused skin, where his teeth nibbled only moments before, and Sander has to lock his knees to stay upright.
“Okay,” he breathes, allowing Niillas to guide him backward into the walk-in shower.
Sander has never been more grateful for modern amenities. The water is blissfully hot after the coldness of the night, and he tilts his head back with a sigh of pure pleasure, closing his eyes for a moment, and just savoring the feeling of Niillas’ hands on his shoulders and around his waist. Niillas crowds him against the wall, lips on Sander’s neck, kissing, biting, nibbling, and oh—
Sander’s hips stutter forward. How can Niillasbitinghim feel so nice?