Page 97 of Oleander

“Christ, Jude. You taste so good,” he told me as he licked and sucked at the sweat at my throat and inhaled the damp hair curling at my neck.

We tumbled to the ground and tore each other free of our trousers, our impatient and hungry mouths devouring. I was on my back, and he was on top, and he wrapped his hand around us both and began to stroke.

I saw stars. Bright blinding lights of rapture sparking behind my eyes.

“Cas...fuck, that feels...”

“I know. I know.” He was moving his body on me like he did when he rode his horse, a powerful tightening of his thighs, the fluid movement of his arse up and down. “I love how hard you get for me, Jude. This big dick is always so fucking hard for me.”

“Shit...”

Caspien didn’t swear often, not as much as Josh or Alfie or other boys at school, or other girls at school, even, but when he did it was always in moments like this, when he was turned on and loose, his restraint unravelling. I loved when he spoke to me like this while he touched me; the scent, sound, and feel of him overwhelming every one of my senses.

He leaned forward and dropped a large, hot, mouthful of spit on our cocks.

“Have you ever gotten hard for another boy, Jude?”

I shook my head fervently.

“You know I haven’t.”

He smirked, looking pleased. “This beautiful dick only gets hard for girls and me. How peculiar.”

I wasn’t sure the former was even true at this stage. I didn’t even want to find out.

“Caspien.” It was a warning.

He still had us gripped in one hand, stroking lazily, but with the other hand he was digging the edge of his thumb into the slit, something that always drove me insane. Poking back and forth and around, almost like he was trying to widen the hole there. The sensation had been odd at first, but I’d grown to crave it. I even played with it when I was alone now, trying to understand the magic of it.

“When I come home again, I think I’ll let you put this beautiful thing inside me. Would you like that?”

Need pulsed out of the hole he was playing with.

“Fuck,” I said and thumped my head back against the mucky ground.

“Would you?”

“Yes. Fuck, Cas, yes. Fuck.”

“Would you fuck me hard and rough or slow and soft, do you think?” He spat onto our dicks again and began to move his hands faster, both together. “Tell me.”

“Hard.” I glared at him, that violent desperation taking over me again. I dug my hands into his thighs and moved my body in time with his, imitating the act I so badly wanted to do. “I’d fuck you so hard, Cas. So fucking hard you wouldn’t be able to sit on that horse for a week.”

He came, erupted, in a glorious white fountain all over me. His body arched as though he’d been shot through with an arrow from behind, all the grace and beauty of a dying Greek hero.

I came an instant later, pleasure moving through me quick and bright as my orgasm pulsed out over our hands and softening cocks.

When it was all over, I wanted to pull him to me, hug him tight and profess everything I felt inside, but I knew it would only ruin the moment. He shot me a sly, seductive smile and stood up. The weight of him lifting off my body felt like the dip of a rollercoaster.

He pulled two handkerchiefs out of the pocket of his riding pants and threw one at me. C.L.D was stitched prettily in navy into the cream cotton.

“What does the L stand for?” I asked as he began wiping himself down.

He shot me a look. “Lucifer.”

I rolled my eyes and stood to wipe myself clean of our expulsions.

When he was finished and had tucked his used handkerchief back into his pocket, he said, “I don’t know.”