Page 82 of The Fake Divination Offense
Bel shouts, the sound echoing off the tiles. “Oh my gods, oh my gods,Orok—”
“Gotta get you ready for me. You okay with that?”
He looks over his shoulder, hands still plastered to the wall, and nods.
“Relax for me,” I tell him, and dive back in.
If he was squirming before, he’s outright flailing now, shifting and wriggling so much I have to band my arm around his hips to hold him in place. His tail thrashes, hitting the wall like a hammering fist; it whips my side and he fumbles an apology, but I grab it as he recoils.
“Touch me,” I say.
He whimpers but complies, too blissed out to think or argue.
His tail curls around my thigh and he groans as I do, the constriction of him on my leg matching the way his hole contracts as my tongue prods at his entrance.
“Fuck, sweetheart, you taste so good.” I nip at him and he might say something, it’s all devolved into mindless babbling. The water’s still pouring down on us, but I can feel his hard cock where I have my arm around his hips, and it’s slick with precum; he must be leaking onto the tiles.
I hold him in place, eating him out with all the desire I’ve been shoring up for weeks, not backing off as his babbling and squirming intensify, as he starts begging, as he swears he’s ready. His rim loosens and I slip my tongue inside, using my thumb and finger to spread him wide so I can dive even deeper, licking, reaching. His heat is so intense, a napalm shot straight to my aching dick, his silken walls rippling with every stilted cry he releases; he’s sobbing against the tiles now.
I promised I’d take care of him. It’s my job now. My purpose, my honor, I’m lost to it. So I keep going, adding a finger alongside my tongue, stretching, massaging his tight, tight rim; gods, he’sso tight.
“Orok.” He thrashes, his tail damn near cutting off the circulation in my leg. “Orok, please, I can’t—I’m gonna—Orok—”
“You’re almost ready.” I thrust two fingers in and out of him. “You gonna come on my hand, Bel? Think you can come from this?”
Another deep lick, then a third finger.
“No—yes? I don’t—Orok.”
My name on his lips like that. I want to eat it off his tongue.
He’s taking three fingers easily, but I play a little longer until I add a fourth, keeping him on the edge, this side of too much. His cries are skittering, up and down and changing pitch, the muscles in his back, ass, and legs rippling and constricting under thatbody chainin a rhythm I can’t catch.
Standing on damn near useless legs, I switch off the water, fingers still in him, and Bel whips a frantic look at me.
“Please, please,” he mumbles, his lips bruised, eyes unfocused, and he peels one hand off the wall to grope for me.
I take his hand, press a kiss to his palm. “Going to get you to the bed.”
He makes a heartbreaking, panicked sound when I slip my fingers free. Gods, he’s so far gone; I might’ve pushed him too much.
A kiss to his forehead. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Just taking you to bed. You’re doing so good for me. So good. Just a bit longer, okay?”
His answering whimper is all I get, so I grab a towel and quickly dry us both, then lift him and hurry him to the bed.
I hunt lube and a condom out of my suitcase. When I settle over him, his hands immediately anchor around my neck. Some of the focus is back in his eyes, some of the fog lifted, but it rolls away with another beautiful, grinding moan as I rub lubed fingers into his stretched rim.
“Now, now,” he begs. “Now, please, fuck me,now.”
“Shh.” I press kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his lips, easing more lube in, scissoring my fingers. His head rocks back and forth on the pillow, his wet hair splayed out around his face, and his hips shift in uneven thrusts like he can’t find the tempo. I keep working him and his expression slants more and more into frustrated, reaching,wanting.
“Not enough,” he says. “Need more, need you.”
I pluck the condom out of the sheets, and at the sound of it opening, Bel’s delirium angles into panic.
“No, no.” He claws his fingers into my neck and blinks big eyes up at me. “You said I’m yours, right? I’m yours, make me yours. I want to feel you, I wantyou.It’s fine, I’ve never been with anyone else. I trust you. Please, just you, just you.”
My consciousness knows I need a minute to disassociate, because all I can suddenly think is how furiously grateful I am that I’m the one he’s doing this with. If it’d been anyone else he was saying that to, someone with fewer morals, someone who’d take advantage?
