Page 102 of Feast of Sparks (Thornchapel 2)
Not the graveyard at all. A strange lightness pricks me all over, like I might actually float off the ground without the Thorn King trapping me here. All the shame I’ve carried over it, all the pain and misery and certainty that I was poison to the people I loved—
I look at the beautiful god above me. I am finally brave enough to guess. “You love me. That’s why you want to see me.”
“I do love you. And I already see you.” A smile tugs at the sharp corners of his lips. “I think we covered that point right here at this spot, actually. A very long time ago.”
“Yes,” I breathe.
The smile fades as the god looks down at me, his expression growing greedy and wild. A wide hand rubs along my ribs and then wedges between our stomachs to search out my cock and squeeze. My back bows under him and I gasp. “Please,” I say.
“You’re mine.”
“Yes.”
“Anything I want from you is mine.”
“Say it and it’s yours,” I tell the god, and I say it as fervently as any prayer. The drums are still going and smoke is in the air, and as the god bends down to taste my mouth, I can almost feel the presence of Poe and the others back in the clearing. I can feel their singing and their dancing. I can feel their feet pounding in a rhythm around the fire, I can feel their lust building like a fire in the blood.
The mouth of the god is warm and silky, and I catch hints of mint and scotch as he runs his tongue along my lips and seeks the inside of my mouth. The kiss is deep, so deep and hard and hot that I almost don’t notice as he works open my jeans and then works open his. But I do notice when he presses our erections together in a grind of searing need.
“I’ve caught you,” he says, a little wildly, as if he can’t quite believe it. “I’ve caught you and now I can do whatever I want.”
I thrust my organ against his, and he groans, the groan turning into a noise of raw impatience as he moves and flips me over onto my hands and knees, my jeans and briefs and trainers torn off somewhere in the process. Before I can properly orient myself, there’s a rustling behind me and then his hands are on my arse cheeks and thighs and hips, kneading and grabbing. Ready to plunder. With each knead and plump, I can feel my entrance exposed. Examined.
I shiver; I know exactly how this god will claim his prize.
Something cool and slick brushes against the tight button of my arse, and I have a moment to register that Auden prepared for this moment, that he must have stashed supplies in this very spot. That he must have known and planned to take me down just here, right here where we swam as teenagers, and that the entire run through the forest was because he allowed it. He wasn’t chasing me, but stalking me, herding me, driving me right to where he wanted me to go.
And then there’s the hard press of his finger and all thought leaves my mind. He wastes no time adding a second finger, and discomfort skitters up my spine even as my crown swells and drips clear drops of seed onto the ground below me.
“You’re mine,” the wild god repeats as he fucks me with his hand. It’s still in that feral, uncaged voice, but when he says it again, his tone has changed. It’s arrogant and implacable. Possessive beyond belief. I won’t survive that tone. “You’re mine.”
“Unconditionally,” I gasp as he pulls his fingers free. I hear a foil tear. “Forever.”
Something big and blunt wedges against my opening, and I’m very aware that I’ve never done this, not with a person, not even with a toy the size of the thing now demanding entrance.
He hasn’t done this either.
I shudder and close my eyes as he unhurriedly shoves the slick head inside, and once he’s in, he impales me slowly, so slowly that there can be no mistake, no missing the moment he is no longer a virgin.
“That’s it,” he grunts once he bottoms out inside me and my bare toes are curling. “That’s fucking it.”
I groan in response, the fullness nigh unbearable; I’m crammed up to my throat with my Thorn King, and I can’t breathe, all the breath has gone right out of me. There’s only him, there’s only his big hands curled around my hips and his desire splitting me open as his antlered shadow falls over my own. And then he’s using me as he needs me, using me hard and fast, with such brutal strokes that I’m crying out with each and every one, but not out of pain. Or not only out of pain, because he’s so big, he’s huge, and he’s taking me like the wild god really would—in an urgent, victorious frenzy.
Between my legs, my bollocks swing and my heavy cock throbs, and his shaft is stroking right where I like my toys to hit, right there, and he’s muttering, “Mine mine mine.” The only sounds leaving my mouth are soft, pleading cries.
But each of my own cries sounds like one two three four in my mind, to the thrum of the drumbeats around us, and it fades from counting the seconds to simply yours yours yours yours. And each silent yours is a prayer. A prayer to him or the forest or to the god of the Catholics, I don’t even know, but it’s a recitation, an invocation, it’s a plea. Give me more moments like this, more hours and days and years.
Let me belong to the wild god forever.
The tension low in my belly feels like a clenched fist and it’s right at the base of my spine, it’s searing at the root of my cock, and everything is tight and hot—my nipples are pulled into points, goosebumps pebble my skin everywhere, my throat is aching with joy and surrender. I’m crying, I think, and then I think he might be crying too, and then I know for sure when he pulls out and flips me over so my back is on the cool, mossy bank once more.
He enters me again with a gentle glide that sends electricity everywhere, from my toes to my scalp, and then he bends over to kiss me again. Tears and sweat mingle as he lifts his head and stares down at me with unmitigated awe, as if I were the god and he the mere mortal. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “You’re so perfect and precious to me. I’m never letting you go again.”
And I say what I should have said eight years ago. “I love you.”
With an impatient growl, he yanks off his antlers and tosses them to the side, and then he bends down and bites me—hard—right over the heart. “Mine,” he grunts, and then he swells inside me. He stays like that, rigid and still, with his lips hovering over the new mouth-shaped bruise on my chest. Then he lets loose with another growl, pumping his condom full of his seed. I can feel the throb and heat of it deep inside me, and I moan and arch against him as he finishes in my body, as the wild god finds his pleasure at long last.
Thud thud thud go the drums.
