Page 29 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

‘It is.’ Silas nodded.

He unbuttoned Pitch’s trousers, brushing his knuckles at the stiff pillar awaiting him, easing the clothes down low until the sodden material hit the rug with a wet thump. The fire had not yet managed to warm the cottage interior entirely, and the brisk cut of air against Pitch’s bare skin made his shuddering intensify.

Silas moved swiftly, gathering Pitch up, one arm cradling his arse, the other bracing his back. Pitch looped his legs around the ankou’s waist, his cock bobbing between them, showing off its glistening top. The ankou carried him to the end of the table closest to the fire.

‘Warmer?’ Silas asked.

‘I am.’ Pitch nodded, grateful the ankou did not voice a concern that the fire daemon felt the cold at all. Those worries had no place here.

Silas turned so that Pitch was hovered over the edge of the table and seemed ready to set him down before he frowned. ‘No, that won’t do. Wait a moment.’

Pitch hissed his annoyance. ‘Can you not see I am ripe for spilling?’

Silas’s laughter was weighted with lust. ‘Oh, I see. And I am going to celebrate every lovely inch of that ripeness, once we have you properly settled.’

Settling was the very last thing Pitch wanted right now. But Silas backtracked to the chair, removing his hand from Pitch’s back to lift the green coat. Pitch clung to him, amused with all the wobbling about, relishing the tangle of Silas’s chest hair around his fingers.

‘What on Earth are you doing?’

‘This.’ Silas returned them both to where the fire’s warmth was evident, spreading the coat over the end of the table. At long last he set Pitch down. The fabric was dry and remarkably soft. ‘If you are uncomfortable, you will tell me?’

‘It depends what you want me to do.’

‘Nothing, nothing at all.’ Silas kissed the tip of his nose. ‘Save for allowing me to indulge you. Would that be all right?’

Pitch could barely manage to nod. His body was a nocked arrow. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t just explode if he tried to utter a word.

He very nearly did when Silas went to his knees.

The ankou kissed the top of each of Pitch’s thighs, then moved to his knees, bestowing more kisses there before urging Pitch’s legs to part. He obliged willingly. So willingly it was a wonder his bloody hip didn’t seize up. He spread wide as a king’s mistress and watched as Silas kissed his way up the inside of his thighs. Moving from side to side, making sure neither were neglected.

‘Sweet gods…’ Pitch shoved his fingers into Silas’s hair. He felt the ankou’s grin against his skin. ‘Silas, damn it.’

The bastard had the audacity to laugh quietly before he finally ended his journey at the jutting pillar between Pitch’s legs. Silas flicked his tongue over the reddened tip and almost received a black eye, Pitch’s hips thrusting so hard with the pleasure. Grinning like a fool, Silas waited till he caught Pitch’s eye before he sank his mouth down over a cock that fairly burst out of its skin to greet him.

The shocking combination of heat and softness had Pitch spineless. ‘Shit. Christ’ were the eloquent words that left him.

The ankou sank his mouth all the way down, lips tight around rock-hard flesh, throat squeezing. Pitch groaned while the ankou’s tongue rubbed at the especially sensitive underside and his fingers danced against tight balls.

The ankou dragged his teeth over Pitch’s length, asserting just enough pressure to be dangerously arousing. A familiar, delicious tingling erupted at the base of Pitch’s spine. He rocked against Silas’s mouth, felt his prick touch at the back of the ankou’s throat and the rhythm quicken. The slick work partnered with the pops and sizzle of the fire warming his curled toes.

Up and up Pitch went, losing sight of the known world and racing towards that pinnacle where climax lived. He sank onto his back and thrust into Silas’s sucking hold, listening to the ankou’s own groans of pleasure as he tasted the spoils.

Pitch bunched up the coat in clawed fingers, wriggling his arse as Silas devoured him. He was one meagre step from losing his fucking mind when the ankou’s fingers left the firmness of his balls, scissoring around the thin skin that held them. He clamped his fingers tight and pulled down. Pitch cursed, knowing the move for what it was. Exquisite torture. The press of Silas’s fingers stamped out the charge that had begun. Held back the imminent eruption.

Silas withdrew the sinful pleasure of his mouth.

‘You bastard.’ Pitch gasped, propping himself on his elbows.

Without a word, and with his devious finger trap still in place, Silas stretched to reach for one of the dun cloths. He leaned, twisting at an angle to dunk it in the steaming water.

‘Sickle,’ Pitch moaned. ‘I thought you meant to indulge, not torment.’

‘And I’m a man of my word. Hush now. You’ll like this, I’m sure.’

‘Ilikedyour mouth on my cock.’

‘I know. But I suspect you’ll be favourable to this. And if not, then we shall explore other options.’ The ankou’s grin was devilish as he loomed, his fingers still keeping their tight hold on soft skin. He pulled the cloth from the water with his freed hand, tight-fisting it, the heated water releasing a fine white vapour as the excess trickled into the bucket. ‘Now, would you mind turning around, please?’ Silas kissed the trembling tip of Pitch’s cock and finally released his hold on the daemon’s balls.