Page 103 of Feast of Sparks (Thornchapel 2)
As his pumps slow and finally abate altogether, he reaches down and gives me one of his big hands to fuck up into, which I do eagerly, his cock still hard and wedged inside me as I rock into his grip. Once, twice, three times—three times is all it takes before my vision grays out at the edges and he is all there is, him and the drums. His pleasure, his privileges as the wild god of this place.
My Thorn King.
With a low sob and series of jerking pulses so hard I can’t bear it, I erupt all over the Thorn King’s fist and my stomach, my belly muscles seizing and my body trying to curl in on itself to save itself from the pleasure. Over and over again, I throb, spending all my love, all my shame, everything I have to give out of my body.
I end up spilling so much seed that I hear laughter. Cool, arrogant laught
er.
I drop my head back, exhausted and sore, and open my eyes to see not the wild god, but Auden, looking at me with that same superior amusement that used to infuriate me so much as a boy.
It still infuriates me a little.
“S’not funny,” I mumble, feeling like I’ve been hit by a lorry. “I think you killed me.”
“Well, then, we’re still in the spirit of the old ways, eh?” He gives me one of those stupidly pretty smiles, and I realize the drums have stopped, as if they’re sated for now.
The hunt is over.
Auden pulls out of me with care, and then looks over my body. “That bite mark will bruise,” he says, and he doesn’t seem sorry at all.
I lift my head to look down at it and sigh. “Sadist.”
“Only sometimes. I think your arse will be sore, but as you also know, I’m a novice when it comes to these things.”
“No longer a novice,” I tell him with a smile. “I got to be your first.”
Another pretty smile. He has a streak of dirt along one cheek and sweat glistening everywhere. His hair is falling in front of his forehead, his jeans are filthy and torn, and he has a spatter of my drying cum on his stomach.
He’s more beautiful than I’ve ever seen him.
“I’m glad,” he says softly. “I couldn’t be more glad.”
While I’m hunting for my clothes, he ties off the condom and then ducks behind a clutch of trees, emerging with a small basket of towels, soap, two glass bottles of water, and a small bin liner for the condom. More preparation. More planning.
“Where did Sir James go?” I ask as he sets his things down.
“He fucked off as soon as we got to the kissing. He knew we were done with the fun chase-y bits. Here, drink this.”
He hands me a bottle of water and refuses to let me move until I’ve drunk at least half. While I’m drinking, he fishes out a bar of soap and sets the towels on a flat, sun-drenched stone to warm.
“I thought we’d clean up a bit before we went to the chapel,” Auden says when I’m finished, taking the bottle back from me and nesting it neatly in the basket. “It was a lot dirtier than I thought it would be—no, stop, don’t say it, the joke was implied.”
We undress and then wade into the river—still shockingly cold since it’s only just turned May—and then Auden insists on lathering and scrubbing me while I shiver and sputter and protest, even though really I’m almost deliriously happy. Happy to be handled by him, cared for by him, happy to be with him.
It’s a dream I haven’t dared to dream for myself in eight years.
And when we’re clean and about to dry off, Auden pulls me into a fierce embrace and kisses me until I’m breathless. “Nothing tears us apart again,” he says desperately. “You understand? Never again, because I won’t survive it.”
“Never again,” I echo against his lips.
“Swear it to me. Say Sir after.”
And so, to my wild god and Thorn King, I swear it.
Chapter 30
Proserpina
