Page 23 of The Captive's Curse
Another wrenching wave of pain swept over me, and I clung to his arms and moaned through it.
Slick. I had to slick myself for him, and quickly, before I couldn’t do anything anymore. Fuck, my curse hadn’t assaulted me so violently in years.
I couldn’t do it, Icouldn’t, not with my magic slipping and slithering through my astral grasp, eluding me, and my body aflame—
“Come on, Lord Cyril. Look at me. Look at me!” I forced my eyes open. And there was Enzo, bending down so that his glittering eyes were all I could see. “There you are,” he said, deep and hypnotic, his voice something I could cling to with my mind, the same way I was currently clinging to his shoulders with my clawed hands. “Get ready for me. Can you feel me touching you? Hmm?”
Now that I had his voice to guide me, his eyes to hold my attention, I could feel him: long fingers sliding between the cheeks of my ass, gently stroking over my hole, feather-light. My cock strained toward him, as desperate as the rest of me for his touch, and for a moment arousal broke the curse’s stranglehold.
Suddenly I could do it after all. I stared into his eyes, panting for breath, probably a ridiculous, sweaty, flushed, wide-eyed thing. But he held my gaze steadily without a hint of contempt or mockery.
A moment before I’d been straining to control my magic, to force it to do what I needed it to do.
But I should have remembered that didn’t work well for me. It never had. All the books I had on magic told me that you had to focus carefully, to be strict about visualizing what you wanted your power to do. And every time I tried to follow those rules, something less than desirable occurred.
Usually something burst into flame, to be honest.
But when I did it right, my magic simply flowed wherever my desires made an easy channel for it, following more of a loose, artistic interpretation of my intent than a disciplined, logical plan. My instincts swept me along. That was how I’d originally found my method for preparing myself for another man, and I’d simply allowed the magical process that had worked to repeat itself ever since.
With Enzo grounding and anchoring me, it was easier than it had ever been. A tendril of my magic curled sinuously from that place in my center where Dromos’s dubious gift resided, snaking its way down between my legs.
I want him, I need him, it hurts, please make it easy…
My magic heard me and responded, sparkling in my mage’s senses.
And then I felt it, like ripples on a river obeying the current below: the tingling of perfect cleanliness inside me followed by slippery softness.
“Oh, fucking gods,” Enzo said, as his fingers pressed against my wet, yielding hole. He sounded the way I would have if I’d been able to speak, raw and desperate, with a rough edge that sent a shudder through me.
I moaned as two of his fingers pushed inside, stretching my rim, opening me, teasing me, far from fully satisfying but enough to have me bucking, lifting my hips, trying to take more of his hand. My eyes fluttered open halfway, and I peeked at him from under my eyelashes.
Enzo’s mouth had fallen open as he stared down between my legs. That wavy lock of hair hung down over his forehead again.
And the moment I looked at him, his gleaming eyes flicked up as if he’d felt the weight of my gaze.
“That’s incredible,” he breathed. “Does that feel as good to you as it does to me?”
Since he twisted his fingers and pressed his thumb behind my balls as he spoke, I couldn’t answer with more than a helpless, broken moan. He’d promised I wouldn’t have to beg, hadn’t he? But his fingers couldn’t quench the curse’s fire, and if he didn’t…but he was, sliding his fingers out of me to leave me empty, grasping me by the hips, rolling me over again so that I sprawled across the bed with my face pressed into the bedding and my ass awkwardly in the air. The lumpy tangle of boots and trousers around my calves kept me pinioned as thoroughly as ropes would have.
I hardly had time to turn my head to suck in a breath before his knees braced against my thighs.
Enzo pulled my ass open with one hand, the impossibly thick head of his cock pressing against my hole. He leaned down until the heat of his breath brushed my shoulder blade.
“You told me your ass wouldn’t even notice if I fucked you,” he said softly, but with an edge that raised all the hair on the back of my neck. I stared at the rucked-up bedding, at the flicker of the torchlight on the stone wall. My body lay hot and heavy and throbbing, at his mercy. “Do you remember that?”
I let out a whimper, pathetically muffled in the blanket. Enzo pushed forward slightly, the head of his cock starting to force me open.
“I think you’re going to notice,” he growled, sounding unbecomingly pleased with himself, and thrust inside.
Chapter Nine
For a long moment, neither of us moved a muscle. I lay there transfixed and shuddering, Enzo’s cock shoved up somewhere under my ribs, my body struggling to accommodate a thick, deep stretch that left me breathless.
But this wouldn’t cure me. He had to spend inside me, and he wouldn’t get there by holding still.
Would he make me beg after all? Tears stung my eyes. I didn’t mind a bit of begging when it was intended to be fun, but he’d promised me…
And then he said, “Hold on, Lord Cyril,” pulled his hips back, and started to fuck me in earnest.
