Page 44 of The Fulbourn: Pitch & Sickle

‘Would you like to remove the skirt after all?’ Silas asked.

He would not mind. Pitch was a vision when laid bare, delicate and yet diamond hard.

‘No. That’s not it.’ The daemon’s grin was a salacious curve. ‘I have something we need. Aha!’ Pitch pulled a tiny bottle from the folds. Pale amber glass with a silver stopper and no bigger than a thumb.

Silas stilled his fingers. He frowned.

‘Rose oil,’ Pitch offered.

‘I know what it is, and what it is for. Why on earth do you have it on you?’ A dreadful thought gripped him. No one but Silas knew of all that had happened in that room at Gidleigh Park House, a secret he’d take to a thousand graves if the prince wished it. But what might those who did not know expect of a daemon renowned for his ability to get what he wanted through seduction?

‘You took it to the soirée? Surely there was no suggestion you should –’

Pitch pressed a finger to Silas’s lips. ‘Jane came across it while she helped me dress. She offered it to me, thinking perhaps you and I may have need of it. Nothing more or less. I accepted because…well, I hoped she might be right.’

The admission robbed Silas of any ability to put a sentence together.

Pitch took Silas’s hand and pressed the bottle into it. ‘The show will not last forever. Will you take me now, Sickle? Or would it excite you to hear me beg?’

Silas curled his fingers around the bottle. He kissed the prince’s cheek and found some words at last. ‘You have no need to beg anything from me. You are the master here.’

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

PITCH WATCHEDSilas flip open the lid of the bottle with his thumb and drip the scented oil onto his fingertips, coating them. His gave his cock a quick once-over, doing it all with a surety that spoke of experience in such matters. Silas discarded the bottle and then dove his slicked hand beneath the folds of taffeta, which gleamed like quicksilver in the candlelit room.

Removing the skirts and corset would have been practical, but Pitch was not practical by nature and was not yet ready to be so exposed. A ludicrous part of him could not disconnect such nakedness, such exposure, from Gidleigh House.

But he wanted this…to be with Silas…so very much, and refused to allow the daemon to steal that from him too. So, if he and the ankou needed to get tangled up a little to make it happen, then so be it.

Pitch rose up on his knees and spread his legs wider. The restrictive width of the chaise prevented him from moving far, but that did not seem to bother the ankou. Silas’s fingers found their way, cool and slippery, to Pitch’s entrance. And this time, when he pressed against the tight knot of muscle, there was give. He pushed one finger inside slowly, ever so slowly, easing Pitch open. Silas was no small man. Nor were his beefy fingers.

‘Fuck.’ Pitch groaned, and of course the oaf was bothered.

‘Is it too much?’

‘If you dare remove it, I’ll slap you. Very hard.’

Silas’s chuckle rumbled through Pitch’s body, and gods it was wonderful. ‘And you sayIam terrible with threats.’ He ran his tongue over Pitch’s nipple, which still tingled from earlier attentions.

‘A slap would stir you, then?’ the prince said. Silas edged in deeper, and Pitch tensed around his finger. ‘Oh sweet gods…’

‘Perhaps you can help me find out in time all the things that stir us both.’

Pitch exhaled hard. ‘You are not making it easy for me to relax.’

‘I think you’re doing very well.’ Silas kissed his chest, a fiendish distraction, as he pushed a second finger into Pitch’s entrance. Gently, of course, there seemed no other way for the ankou to be, but even so, the stretch was considerable. Pitch clenched his jaw, riding out the discomfort, determined not to let it show.

‘Breathe for me,’ Silas whispered.

Pitch could not help a jerky laugh. ‘The last time you said that, the circumstances were quite different.’

‘And there too you handled things admirably.’

When Lucifer’s dark talk had stirred Pitch’s beast, Silas had subdued the inferno with words alone.Breathe, come back to me.

Pitch raised his head and sought out the ankou’s lips. He dove on Silas’s mouth as though he’d not tasted it in months and could not be parted from the iron-tinged earthiness he craved a moment longer. It was true enough. His body thrummed with the rising heat of arousal. The sting between his cheeks faded, as he relaxed into the ankou’s intrusion.

Silas sank his fingers deeper, and Pitch’s thighs trembled so hard he had to lean against the ankou.