Page 98 of Threadbound

“The… flowers?” He kept stroking Bran, although his rhythm faltered a little, worried Bran wasn’t as interested as his body seemed to be.

“Aye,” Bran half-groaned. “Pull one of them off.”

It was a weird request, but Jamie leaned away from Bran and did as he asked, his longer arms easily able to reach one of the heavy crimson blooms. Bran took it from him, turning the flower so that the curved base of the blossom rested against his palm. Then he squeezed it gently with his other hand, and a thick, gelatinous substance oozed out onto Bran’s hand.

Oh.

Bran offered his palm to Jamie. “I’d like to feel you inside me,” the fae murmured, and Jamie’s throat went dry, his heart pounding in his throat even as his cock twitched.

“Okay,” was all he managed to actually say, running two fingers through the jelly so that he could prepare Bran’s body.

Bran was warmer inside than out, the ring of muscle tight against Jamie’s finger as he gently pressed his way in. Bran’s head was thrown back, his hands spread across the bed-covers, green eyes closed as Jamie gently pressed deeper, then drew back, then pressed inward again, stretching, teasing.

“Jamie.”

“Yeah?”

“More.”

Jamie added a second finger, the tightness of Bran’s muscle making his breath catch as he contemplated what it might feel?—

“More,” the fae repeated, his voice breathy.

“I don?—”

“You willna hurt me,” Bran told him, opening those vibrant emerald eyes.

It was Bran who reached out, more of the flower-gel on his hands, and stroked Jamie’s erection, slicking him.

Breathing out slowly, Jamie pushed Bran’s legs back, tilting his hips to create the right angle, lining himself up and then carefully, gently beginning to push.

“More,” Bran rasped.

Jamie pushed deeper, gasping at the feel of Bran’s raw strength around him. Somehow this—his body joined with Bran’s, the tightness of him enveloping Jamie’s awareness—drove home Bran’s utterly inhuman strength in a way nothing else had. Not when, injured and bleeding, Bran had crushed a man’s—no, a fae’s—windpipe. Not his ability to fight his way free from Jamie’s arms while bleeding. Not when he’d forced himself to shift forms while dying.

Simply the feel of his body around Jamie’s highly sensitive cock—the fact that Bran could easily, if he ever so chose, simply snap Jamie’s neck or spine was so absolutely crystal clear…

It should have scared him.

It did something else entirely.

Buried deep in Bran’s powerful yet slender body, Jamie bent forward, leaning his weight against Bran’s legs until he could touch his forehead to Bran’s.

Taloned hands slid up his arms and around his shoulders.

“More,” Bran breathed against his lips, and Jamie obeyed, slowly pulsing his hips, rocking his body against Bran’s, moving only a few inches at a time at most.

Jamie felt oddly disconnected from himself while at the same time being so very grounded in the feeling of Bran’s skin, the pressure of his body, the lines traced on his skin by Bran’s smooth talons. His own head felt funny, like the gasping breaths he was using weren’t getting him enough air, like he was feverish or drunk or both, but on the scent of Bran’s skin and the lingering taste of salt on the back of his tongue.

Bran’s breaths, too, were coming faster, rasping a little each time Jamie pushed all the way into him, pressure building in his balls as he slowly rocked against Bran’s hips.

It wasn’t quite enough.

Jamie leaned to one side, sliding his other hand under Bran’s hip and easing one leg over his shoulder, pushing his palm against Bran’s lower spine to tilt him just a little more.

Bran let out a deep, resonant groan, muscles clenching around Jamie in a way that took all his breath away.

This time, Jamie drew himself almost all the way out before thrusting back in, and the hand on his shoulder clenched as Bran gasped, the erection on his belly shiny with precum. The sight was enough to push Jamie further, and he withdrew and thrust again, and again, and again, sweat beginning to dampen his skin.

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