Page 7 of Sanguine
He punches in the code to his gate as he huffs some more, and then as he impatiently ushers me through, he says, “I’m not angry, Aaron.”
“You’re not?”
A self-deprecating puff of air. “I’m a little ashamed is all.”
“Ashamed?”
“It’s one thing to scent your earnestness,” he says as we walk down the path to the door. Cockatoos ruffle and bitch as we walk by, but they sense in their animal way that Bastien is a predator, and so they give us a wide berth, fluttering from a distance. “But to hear it—to know it—Aaron, I don’t think you appreciate how good you are. And if I weren’t already going to hell on account of being an immortal cannibal, then I’d be going to hell for the mere fact that your goodness incites me to badness. It makes me want to do very depraved things with you.Toyou, actually, very much to you.”
I don’t think I can breathe. I want those depraved things so badly, but when I open my mouth to tell him so, all that comes out is a low noise of acknowledgment.
Luckily, Bastien doesn’t seem to mind my taciturnity. He keeps going as he opens his front door. “I want to fuck your goodness. Do you understand how odd that is? I want to bite it. I want to drink these wonderful, earnest secrets of yours down as you shudder for me. I want to make you feel every dirty thing you’ve earned by being so good; I think you’re too pure to be truly debased, but my God, I want to try.”
The door swings open, and we step inside, and before I can react—which means it happens too fast foranyhuman to react—I’m shoved against the wall and Bastien’s mouth is on mine.
He pins me there with a forearm against my throat, his free hand roaming shamelessly around my body, sliding over my stomach and hips and then delving right past my waistband, sending my back arching far off the wall.
“Whoa, there,” he says like I’m a stallion he’s trying to break, and fuck if that doesn’t get me hotter. All my life, my size has been something to be afraid of, something to be contained, but Bastien seems …delightedby my bigness.Pleasedby it. Aroused by it. Like it’s thrilling for him to have a massive, wild male grunting and snarling at his touch. And for some reason, that makes it thrilling for me. He isn’t scared of me, and he’s just as strong, if not stronger. I don’t have to worry about hurting him or scaring him, no matter how much I thrash or no matter how many snarls I make.
And I am snarling now as his clever fingers find my erection and squeeze before pushing lower to cup my testicles. His mouth on mine is firm and persuasive, coaxing me to open in between my growls, his kiss turning possessive as he strokes along my tongue and licks at the inside of my lips.
“What can’t I do to you?” he whispers against me. His hand in my pants is wicked, and I’ve never felt anything like it, not even the times I’ve done this to myself. “Tell me, mon prêtre. What can’t I do to you?”
I know he’s honestly asking, and so I give him an honest answer. “Nothing.”
“That’s a dangerous thing to tell such a one as me.”
“I watched you take care of a total stranger last night. You only took a little, and when you were done, he was conscious and smiling and safe. And you have every reason to hate me because of what I used to do, and yet you’re still asking me permission now. I trust you, Bastien.”
He goes still against me, and after a second, he pulls back enough that he can meet my stare, pulling his hand free from my pants too, which has me arching again. His eyes are so dark, so unreadable. His breath is warm against my kiss-damp mouth. “You truly trust me?”
“I do.”
He closes his eyes. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
“Jesus!” His eyes fly open. “Of course not, Aaron! What thefuck.”
“Then I trust you,” I say, shrugging against the wall. He lowers his forearm and takes a deep breath, running a hand down his face.
“Okay. Okay. I’m going to fuck you and I’m going to bite you and I’m going to play with your cock and maybe suck it too—not all in that order, obviously, I’m having a hard time thinking right now. It will feel good when I bite you and I won’t take too much, but I need you to tell me if it’s still too much or if it hurts. I mean, hurts in a bad way. You know what I mean.”
Seeing this noble vampire all flushed and flustered—because of me—is gratifying beyond measure. “I trust you,” I repeat simply. “As long as you don’t mind that I—I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Jesus Christ,” Bastien mutters to himself, running another hand down his face. “Do I mind that this giant farm-boy-slash-priest is a virgin and trembles whenever I so much as hold his hand.Jesus.”
He presses back against me, one hand deftly unbuttoning my pants and freeing my erect organ. I hiss the moment it hits the cool air, and he hisses along with me as he looks down and sees I’m already wet at the tip.
“Am I the first person to touch this cock?” he asks me, his voice low and sounding more French than ever. “I think I must be. You’re about to go off in my hand, and I haven’t done anything yet. Fuck, that’s sexy. Jesus, are you about to come right now? You really are.Fuckfuck fuck fuck—”
Bastien’s husky wonder is the soundtrack to my first orgasm with someone else; all it takes is looking down and seeing him wrap those elegant fingers around my length and I am done for. He doesn’t even squeeze me, he doesn’t even stroke me—heholdsme and I come immediately.
We both watch as thick ribbons of white spill from the tip and over his fingers, my erection visibly jerking with each and every surge. I’m ashamed, I’m so ashamed, but there’s no stopping it, no stopping the heavy spurts desperate to leave my body. And even in the midst of my shame, it feels sofucking good, so good that I don’t care how lewd I’m being, how I’m dirtying Bastien’s hand and dripping onto his floor, I don’t care, if someone tried to stop me before I was finished, I’d rip them in half, because I need to finish more than I need to take my next breath, that’s how urgent and necessary this is.
Not that there’s any possibility of stopping anyway. The surges are a mindless, animal pleasure, hooked deep into my belly, and by the time I’m spent in Bastien’s hand, I barely know my own name. I couldn’t have torn myself away from this moment even if I’d had bands of brother priests to help me, and it isn’t until the uncivilized spilling stops that I realize I was grunting and pushing into Bastien’s hand.
I go silent and still, feeling like a dirty beast.
