Page 34 of Tempt

His hand shakes as he follows my command, then he presses his palms to the seat and lifts. His jeans slide down his thighs, exposing his hard, thick, pink cock wet with his need to be sucked. It is perfect in every way—the shape, the color, the taste.

It takes everything in me to keep quiet.

He looks panicked, so I offer him a hand, and he guides it to his mouth. My fingers fill him—three along his tongue, keeping it pressed down and blocking most of the air from his throat so he can’t make a sound.

The look of gratitude he gives me almost makes me drop to my knees. Fuck, he is perfect. He is made for me.

He is my everything in a way he may never fully understand.

I will live with that pain of him never knowing. He is human. It will eventually fade for him…I think.

It must.

After all, they are not like us.

Our eyes lock for a moment, and then I feel him in my head. My Eissa. It’s not words; it’s a feeling. It’s the impression of signs on hands, and the vision of what I look like, half-feral, crouched between his legs, starving for his cum.

And I will not deny myself what I want any longer. This, after all, must be the final time I taste him. Licking over my fangs, I take a breath, then dip my head down.

His cock jumps as I curl my tongue around it, then draw him deep into my throat. I suckle at first, listening to his soft, muted whimpers, feeling the way he mimics the sensation on my fingers.

This isn’t just a hunger now. It’s not just a want. It’s a need that lives deep in my soul. I suck harder, deeper, drinking down the first pulses of his precum, waiting for the rest to explode.

If I had him in my home, I would place ruenox on his tongue and watch his balls fill over and over as I drank from him again and again.

But I cannot.

This little temptation, this little taste, will have to be enough.

As my thin, pierced, forked tongue skates up and down his dick, I hear him start to whimper, and I can tell he’s close. He sucks on my fingers harder, his hands searching and finding my hair. He grips it tightly and thrusts his hips hard, and I take him as deep as my throat will allow.

“Eissa,” he moans.

He says my name one more time, like he is praying to the ancient gods of Erethar. His whimpers are begging as he writhes beneath me. It is almost too much for me to bear.

I tug on his balls. They’re small in my palm, and he bites down on my fingers, sucking harder.

I do the same, my head bobbing, my tongue dancing around his shaft.

He doesn’t last.

He spurts once into my mouth, and I swallow it down, feeling the bond between us deepening. And then he explodes, his hips arched up, his hands grabbing onto my ears, his back bowing from the console. His head tilts back, and he gives a low, desperate moan as he spills, and spills, and spills.

My fingers slip from his mouth, trailing wetly down his neck as I drink him down.

He collapses moments later, satiated, but I am not. I am left wanting more. I want all of him—body, heart, and soul.

As much as it would be wise, I cannot bring myself to rush away. I let my head rest on his bare thigh, feeling the tickle of his coarse hair brush against my cheek. His hand strokes the tip of my ear, and it sends affection fluttering through my body.

I let myself breathe. Once. Twice.

And then I know I need to pull away. I have no choice. I cannot choose between my people and Luca. What good will I be to him if I cannot free us all from the oppressive chokehold the rest of the council and Prince Jyrion have on us?

So, I gently rise, peeling myself away from him, taking several steps back so even if he tries, he cannot reach me.

When he sits up, I see the questions in his expressive eyes. Why, they ask. Why again? Why now? What have I done wrong?

I want to kneel at his feet, to bury my face against his little human cock, breathe in the scent of him, and beg him for forgiveness. He deserves a better monster than I can ever be for him. I must find a way to let him go.