Page 37 of Monstrous Travels as Wicked as Sin

“I don’t know.” Joe shrugged. “Magical powers?”

Percy’s sulky reply swept over a handsome pout. “I’ve got magical powers.”

“Billions of followers?”

Percy rolled his blue eyes up to the ornate ceiling. “Sycophants, the lot of them.”

“Mostly true,” Joe conceded.

Percy dipped his head to the side, thick dark hair tumbling across his left cheekbone as he settled his gaze on Joe. “Is He as good looking at me?”

Joe’s delectable lips drew into a smile. “Not according to any depiction I’ve ever seen.”

“What if I grew a beard?”

“Don’t you dare.”

Percy’s smile mellowed to penitent adoration. “I’m sorry.”

Joe’s eyes softened to their usual state of ardour. “Me too.”

“Come here.”

Joe kicked his shoes off, Percy placed his brandy down on a nearby table, and lifted his arms in time to catch Joe’s hips as Joe leaned over and placed a long, absolving kiss on his lips. Percy held him there with one hand drifting up to caress his cheek, his sincere blue eyes searching Joe’s. “I love you. And I won’t be difficult if you want to go to church again.”

Joe kissed him, then let his head rock back to make way for Percy’s lips on his neck. “It’s kind of messed up, you know. Being jealous of God.”

Percy uncrossed his long legs and wrapped them around Joe’s thigh, pulling him in a little closer. “Can you blame me?” His heated words whispered over Joe’s ear. “He’s the only other man you’ll get on your knees for.” Percy sank his teeth into Joe’s earlobe, and his hand moved to Joe’s belt.

“Percy,” Joe whispered, on a smitten, resigned, ecstatic, defeated breath. His fingers slipped under his white collar to pull it loose, but Percy’s hand closed over them the very same second.

“Leave it.”

Percy’s other hand was on his dick now, already leaking pre-cum against the inside of his black vestments. He closed his fingers around the thick length and ran a too-light stroke all the way up. Joe pressed into him, greedy for more, and Percy shifted his hand softly, that little bit too distant. Percy found his mouth, dragging the tip of his tongue across Joe’s lower lip, the same so-close-but-too-far temptation driving Joe mad from both directions.

He wrenched Percy’s belt open, refusing Percy’s control of the game. He fell to his knees and broke Percy’s enticingly erect cock free of his just-applied trousers. His first kiss fell right atthe base of his dick, and from there he kissed a line, slow and gentle, up one side.

Percy ripped his own shirt over his head and settled a little deeper into his chair to get a better view. He knew how beautiful he was. He positively revelled in it. The only thing that could have enhanced that image of his firm and undulating muscles in the glow of firelight, of that glorious, pulsing, full erection, was the long dark eyelashes of his lover, closed in their enjoyment of his dick. The lips that were too pink for decency. The deep brown eyes drunk with lust that looked up at him when he reached the crown of his cock, and said, “On my knees like this?”

Gently, gently, he kissed Percy’s dick, his lips hot and wet and begging to be filled to the brim with Percy’s cum. “Very nearly,” Percy breathed, fully expecting Joe to follow what was closer to a direction than a hint, and slip that beautiful mouth over the tip of his cock. Instead, Joe grinned, then dipped his head to the other side, beginning another teasing, torturous, incensing climb of Percy’s long shaft.

That sensual, glorious, completely delicious bastard. Percy had a good mind to take him in hand, but after all, a priest on his knees kissing your dick in an ancient lodge on a stormy Shetland day is something that should be savoured. In theory. If you can stand it long enough.

Joe’s kisses moved all the way to the tip again, then that smile—that delectable, vicious smile as he sank back down, sending Percy close to apoplectic. “Stand up,” he said sharply, fully prepared to take Joe’s dick in his own mouth and show him how it’s done.

“Nah, I’m good down here.” And he kissed a little higher, along the centre, just as provokingly.

Percy’s dick throbbed against his nose. “You’re a troublemaker.”

Joe’s lascivious eyes rose over the gorgeous cock. “I learned from the best.”

The hotter than hot—volcanically hot—perfectly wet mouth took Percy deep. “Fuck,” he sighed out. Joe was wonderful. So wonderful. The best fiancé a man could ever ask for. The best fiancé whose fingers needed to explore Percy’s sculpted abs even as his flat and firm tongue traversed Percy’s length. The best fiancé who it was impossible to stay mad at or argue with for more than five minutes because he was too, too sweet and entirely too beautiful.

Then why this niggling doubt in the back of Percy’s mind? Why this something, even now, when he was halfway down Joe’s throat, that seemed to sit between them?

That something, he knew, was the relentless and harrowing question that would not budge from his mind: what would God’s dick be like? Would it be longer, or wider, or more glorious than his? He wondered if Joe would make that satisfied rumble in the back of his throat if God was fucking his mouth. He wondered if God would have half the self restraint he had to let Joe take his time and wind him up to the point of explosive insanity, or if God would take a grip of Joe’s hair and plunge his cock so deep Joe would have trouble deciding whether dick or air was more essential for survival.

The thought of it, of God fucking Joe, drove Percy mad. Madder than usual. Which is saying something, because Percy, an atheist, should have been above such speculation, but that day, he discovered he was not.

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