Page 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

PERRY

Shit, he smells good. I think I’m torturing myself more than him at this point. Being wrapped around someone so tall and strong who smells like … I don’t fucking know. Dirt and sweat and the weird plant-based bath wash they have here shouldn’t be such a turn-on. But all of that smells so goddamn good on him.

I’m ninety percent confident it has nothing to do with the smell and everything to do with him. My cock is pressing flush against his ass, and I’m quickly losing the battle of not poking him with my hard-on. He has to feel it by now. Not that it matters—I’m not doing a great job of hiding how much I want him.

This time when I press my nose to his skin and inhale, a moan hums through my chest. St. Clare tenses against me, and then, so subtle I almost miss it, his head tilts to the side. My nose finds that crook behind his ear, and when I breathe him in, my eyes flutter closed.

He’s intoxicating.

He takes another shot, but I’m so consumed by him I barely notice. I’m tuned out to everything but the way his body is making mine react. Every little particle bowing toward him. Straining for contact. For attention.

“I …” His one word shivers with a breakdown in his control. “I got it … ”

My eyes crack back open, and while his aim was completely off, he did manage to hit the tree. Not the target, but I guess I wasn’t specific about that. “You did,” I agree. “Very talented.”

Tension gusts out of his shoulders as he sets the safety and drops the gun on the grass before sneaking his hand between us.

Then he takes hold of my cock.

I choke on my surprise.

He rubs me through my pants as my hands relocate to his hips. “You really thought you could tease me like that?” he asks.

“If it’s any consolation, it was a tease for me as well.”

“It’s not.”

I grunt and rest my forehead on his shoulder. “Why can’t I keep my hands off you?” It’s more of a hypothetical, but I really am curious. I can’t remember ever wanting anyone this much. It’s consuming. So consuming it makes me forget the very real danger we’re in the second he touches me because if I die like this, I’ll be dying fulfilling my true purpose.

Being St. Clare’s plaything.

His grip tightens through my pants, and breathing through my nose gets harder. I’m trying to keep it together, but he knows how to pull me apart, and every stroke has me breaking into pieces. I shudder in his hold.

“Please …” I’m begging him. Again. So much for being all capable alpha man—if I could ever claim that—because it’s just not possible around St. Clare. I turn into a flailing turtle the second he’s around, and nothing I do can stop me from tipping over onto my shell and going belly up.

“Please what?” he asks, that teasing tone I love so much zapping through my bloodstream.

“Please … anything. Touch me, St. Clare. Hand, mouth, dick … I don’t care.”

His head turns sharply, nose bumping my ear, and I glance up to meet his searching eyes. “Could I fuck you?” His hand flexes around my cock, and I press deeper into his touch.

“Do you want to?”

“So fucking much.” The words are a rasp. “But there’s no way your virgin hole could take my cock the way I want it to right now.”

The sound that echoes in my throat is one thousand percent not a whimper. “Goddammit, do something .”

He nips my chin, then takes a step away, breaking all contact between us. My hands automatically reach for him, but he only shakes his head and points at the tree. “Go and lean against it, drop your pants, and stick your ass out.” His eyes twinkle darkly. “You asked for this.”

I’m still not sure what this is, but I tug at my jeans button while I walk, careful of my arm even though the painkillers are doing their job, and as soon as I reach the tree, my pants are loose enough to shove them to the ground.

I don’t realize St. Clare has followed me until his warm hand presses against my lower back, encouraging me to arch forward more. Then, his fingertips brush over my hole.

I jolt but strangle my cry before it can leave me. “Oh, fuck.”

His chuckle is sinful. “Like that?”

“Surprisingly, I think I did. Hard to tell though. Might need more.”

“More?” His fingers skim my opening again, and the buzz it ignites is incredible.

“No one’s ever touched me there before last night.”

“I got that impression, yeah.” He’s smiling as he leans in and licks my neck. “It does something to me, you know. Knowing I’m the first. That I get to train your hole and show it everything it’s been missing. I’m going to have it so fucking desperate to take a cock that you’ll be begging me to fuck you every time you see me.”

I reach out and grip the rough tree to try and stay upright. St. Clare’s words have me doubting my legs to do their job. “You’re going to … train me?” My cock feels impossibly hard at the thought. Shouldn’t that be something that turns me off ? Not makes me want to risk splinters by humping the tree just to get some fucking relief.

“Do you not want me to? ”

“No, no.” I shake my head to exclamation point my answer. “I’m ready. Just clarifying.”

He makes a line of wet kisses down to my shoulder, then pulls his hand away, and I hear him spit. “You’re going to be so greedy for it.”

When his fingers find my hole again, I rub back against them. Joke’s on St. Clare because I’m already greedy for anything he’ll give me. He doesn’t need to train me on it when I come with a built-in St. Clare simp upgrade. Whatever he wants, I want it too. The thought of being fucked is … weird. How does it work? Will it hurt? Is there anything I need to do to prepare? Should I?—

St. Clare’s finger presses inside and cuts off every word I’ve ever thought. It’s only the tip at first. A gentle stroke in and out that I get used to faster than I would have assumed I would. It feels … nice. It actually feels nice. This pleasant hum of something that I relax into.

“There you go,” he encourages before sucking my on neck.

Every pass of his finger has me sinking into the feeling. My shoulder is aching, but even that doesn’t register when St. Clare leans back to spit on my hole and this time presses his finger all the way inside.

The intrusion makes me feel full, and the pressure in my balls really, really likes it. If this is one finger, how much more can I take? Two? Three? His cock? That’s what we’re aiming for eventually, I guess, but it almost feels impossible. Like I’m already maxed out. But I want to try.

His finger presses in deep before pulling back and doing it again. And again. The more he does it, the more I like it, and surprisingly, it hasn’t hurt once. My dick is so fucking hard, and for some reason, the whole idea of being half-naked and exposed is really doing it for me.

“God, I wish this was my cock,” he says.

I sort of wish that too, but he was right before. I don’t think I could have taken it. All I know is that this, this is good. Great. Exactly what I need. “Give me more.”

“You sure? ”

“Only one way to find out.”

St. Clare huffs a laugh. “Perry?—”

“I know, I know, you need me to be sure. But I need you to trust me, and when I say I think I’m good, it’s because I want to try it, but I might change my mind. And I’ll let you know if that happens.”

“Promise?”

“Have you ever known me to keep quiet about something?”

“Good point.” He leans back to spit again, and fuck me. I’m even tuned in to that too. His fingers massage my rim, softening it, preparing me, and then he sinks two of them inside.

Fuuuck me .

There’s a stretch. Not painful but definitely weird. He’s breaking down everything I ever knew, and as he pumps his fingers into me, I’m high on it. Buzzing. Every little nerve prickling alive and sending all very, very good messages to my brain. My cock is leaking, tiny beads of precum appearing at the tip with every pass of his fingers deep inside me. Like there’s a flip switch that goes from his fingers to my balls, and he keeps pressing and prodding and reminding me that I’m helpless when it comes to him.

“How does it feel?”

“Good. Too good.” I let out the groan that I’ve been trying to hold back and move my weight onto my non-injured arm. The bullet hole twinges as I reach down and wrap my hand around my cock. “I think you could probably make me come just from doing that,” I say, stroking myself.

“Probably. We can try that out another time.”

All these promises of more times together are exciting me as much as him fucking my ass with his fingers. They’re slippery with spit, and I’ve loosened up enough that nothing is holding him back from pegging me hard.

Then he adds a third.

The stretch this time is indescribable. I’m light-headed with how amazing I feel, and I’m finding it difficult to catch hold of any one thought other than yes, yes, fucking yes .

This time, I don’t bother to try and hold in the moan. I push back against him, almost riding his hand as I fuck into my fist, discovering for the first time that I don’t think I’ve ever had sex properly. It’s only been half the experience. My dick getting all the action while I had a hidden fun zone that I never knew anything about, and now that I do … St. Clare better be ready for how insatiable I’m about to become.

God, I need more. His cock, preferably. Being forced open around his dick, wider than I am now, fuller than I’ve ever been? That shouldn’t make my limbs tremble the way they’re trembling, but it’s a good sign I’m not going to last like this much longer.

St. Clare peels himself away from me, free hand gripping my ass and spreading it apart. “Fuck, that’s hot. You like me inside you?”

“Yes. Who the fuck knew it felt like this?”

“Every single person who’s into ass play.”

“Smart-ass.”

He brings a whack down on my bare ass check. “You were saying?”

The sting hurts, but somehow, I want more. Fuck. What the hell is this? Is it crack? Sex crack? I grip myself tighter as I jerk off, rocking onto his fingers and wishing they were fatter. Deeper. “Give me your cock.”

St. Clare makes a choking noise. “No.”

“But—”

“If you were experienced, spit would be enough, but I’m not fucking you without lube.”

I groan out my complaint. “I’m okay with a little pain.”

“Nope.”

“But—”

He chuckles, filthy and raspy and too much for my tiny brain. “I’ve got something to keep you going.”

That gets my interest until he pulls his fingers out, leaving me empty and stretched and desperate for more.

Then I hear the zip of his pants, and before I can beg for his fingers back, something smooth, hot, and sticky with precum skims over my hole.

My head drops back as St. Clare rubs his cock over my entrance. He’s leaking as much as I am, and the sounds of his labored breathing and jerking off fill my head. I’m still empty, I still want more, but the tease of him so close to where I want him to be is spurring me on.

“I want to fuck you too,” he breathes. “It’s so hard not to just push inside you right now.”

“Do it, then. I dare you.”

His raspy chuckle tugs at something deep in my gut. “Behave.”

“Not possible.” My hand keeps flying over my cock, tip extra sensitive and ready to come. So, so ready. “You’re scrambling my brain.”

The low hum is dangerous as he drags the tip of his cock back and forward over my hole. It’s slippery as he rubs precum into my skin, and his lips fall right by my ear. “You’re a whore for it, aren’t you? You’d let me stick it in. Even if it hurt.”

Somehow, my brain gets scramblier. I’m sweating and heated from the inside out. “Do it.”

“God, you’re even begging for it.”

What else would I be doing? I’m so frustratingly empty, it feels like a waste. A waste for him not to use me and make us both feel good in the process. Holy shit, I’m clawing out of my skin here, and the tease of him right where I want him is too much.

My thighs are locked up as I fuck into my fist and keep trying to press back onto him. My body has taken on a mind of its own. I’m so horny, so desperate, and his deep grunt by my ear makes me want to draw that sound from him again and again.

The pleasure is building deep in my gut, and I’m convinced I can take him. And if I can’t? Who the fuck cares. At least then, this desperate need would be filled, and I wouldn’t feel like I’m going out of my goddamn mind.

My forearm is getting tight, but I don’t stop touching myself. Don’t stop pulling that high from where it’s tingling at the base of my spine.

“Please, St. Clare …” I pant. “Please.”

“Such a greedy little hole.” He groans, and not even a second later, he floods my lower back with his cum. It’s deliriously hot, and as he rubs the head of his cock against my ass cheeks, making me sticky with it, I finally let loose.

Rope after rope fills my palm as my blood sizzles with the satisfaction of my orgasm. I groan my way through it, not giving a fuck if I wake Lars because goddamn, the world should know how good St. Clare is at sex.

As long as he’s only having it with me.