Page 13 of The Death Wish

‘More?’ Silas whispered.

‘Yes, gods, yes.’

Silas balled his fist, crushing twin jewels with eye-watering ferocity. Pitch sailed into exquisite agony, alive to every end of every nerve. He rolled his head against the mattress, his incubus hunger maddened by the harsh play.

There’d been hint that Silas was capable of such roughness, but no sign he might enjoy it every bit as much as Pitch did.

The animalistic noises coming from the ankou, the possessive way his teeth teased at the lump at Pitch’s throat whilst he so efficiently punished his balls, were a revelation.

‘Such a good boy,’ he murmured in Pitch’s ear. And it was impossible not to shudder. Not to swell so hard it seemed impossible his skin would not break. ‘Can you take more?’

Not if Silas kept talking like that. Pitch’s head spun, and he was fairly sure he replied, but equally certain whatever he said was babble.

Silas relaxed his hold only a moment, to urge Pitch flat onto his back, and then drove his grip home again, pulling down as he did so this time; stretching the fine sack of skin around Pitch’s balls until it could be dragged no further. Pitch’s moan grew with the sweet torture, warmth spilling from the tip of his cock; pain balancing him upon a tipping point of sheer paradise.

‘I want you to come for me.’ Silas was an utter fiend. ‘Will you do that for me?’

Yes. Yes. A simple word, one Pitch was incapable of speaking. Only a ridiculous gurgle escaped his constricted throat. The base of his spine began to burn; heralding the sheer ecstasy that would soon spill into his groin and erupt from his prick. He moaned like the very best harlot in the very best brothel.

The ankou shifted his mouth to Pitch’s lips, breathing his command against them. ‘Come for me now.’

He squeezed, mercilessly, at beleaguered balls, whilst also taking firm command of Pitch’s straining cock; sliding his hand up and down with such fever, Pitch was sent soaring beyond all chance of control.

Pitch shouted to the gods: his back arched, his release unstoppable. He came with a violence that sucked the breath from his lungs, and had him digging his nails in where he clung to Silas. He bucked and stuttered and went a little mindless with it all; and if anyone had asked him his name there and then, he’d have had no fucking clue what it was.

His incubus blood was greedy, drawing in the sensual, crackling energy between them. Gorging itself on the heat and desire that emanated from Silas. The ankou was a great body of lust, a beaming sun of want that saturated Pitch in a way very near to overwhelming. Silas held nothing of himself back. He was open, available. Ready to give far too much.

Pitch winced, and reined in the ravenous hunger that consumed him, even as his body still twitched with the violence of his spend. An incubus could lose control.

And he’d sooner starve than harm this man.

Then it was over, save for the shudders. Silas moved in for another of his deep kisses. He rolled his hips forward, and his arousal was still painfully evident.

‘Let me tend to that,’ Pitch panted.

‘Not yet.’ Silas traced a fingertip along his hairline. ‘You are glowing. Let me watch you enjoy your pleasure a while longer.’

Pitch smiled, tired and entirely sated. He slumped into the mattress, and Silas lay his head upon Pitch’s damp chest.

‘You are quite the scoundrel, Mr Mercer.’ He twisted his fingers through Silas’s dark hair. ‘I did not think you’d care for more forceful indulgences.’

‘Ah, there you see, we have much to learn of one another.’ Silas ran his fingertip through dampness on Pitch’s exposed belly, his shirt having ridden up as he contorted. ‘I care for anything that makes you lose yourself like that. I could watch you spend all day.’

Pitch’s eyes were determined to close. ‘I am preternaturally talented in many ways, but alas, endless climax is not in my repertoire.’

‘Very disappointing. Perhaps you should go bother the cobbler after all.’

Pitch flicked at his ear, eliciting a delightful whimper.

‘Before I go, I have something to attend to.’ Pitch wriggled from beneath Silas’s leaning weight, pushing the ankou flat onto his back. ‘Stay, do not move an inch. It is my turn for ordering about, now.’

Silas grinned, and lifted his arms, crossing his hands beneath his head. ‘Very well, then. It’s close enough to Christmas, I suppose gifts are in order.’ His eyelids were heavy, the rings beneath his eyes growing more pronounced as the light weakened with the afternoon. Now there was not just the reek of travel and maltreatment permeating; but the cloying, glorious scent of fucking.

Pitch nudged Silas’s legs apart and lay between them. This was likely the most putrid he’d ever been in his human form. They were both wretched, and moving like decrepit old men. Pitch was sticky, hollowed out with fatigue, and yet, despite it all, he’d never been so content.

‘I’m not one for all this festive season malarky, myself.’ He flicked at the buttons on Silas’s trousers, and slipped the ankou’s superb and rigid cock free. Pitch licked its reddened tip, and peered up through his lashes, the way he knew Silas liked. ‘But I can deliver a very decent gift.’

CHAPTER FOUR