Page 23 of Ascendent
Too much champagne, Svetlana’s hands on Sergey all evening, Sergey flirting with everyone, with Svetlana, with Katerina, with Evgenia and Risa and all the other actresses, with the press even, with every camera that flashed toward him. It all burst inside Sasha at once, a fierce need, a hunger that inflamed him.
What burned more? Fire or Ice?
Sergey was finally with him. Alone.
He grabbed Sergey, pushed him against the marble, fists gripping the lapels of his tuxedo. A moment, and then Sasha crushed him, pressed the long lengths of their bodies together, before he covered Sergey’s lips with his own. Sergey groaned, and he grasped Sasha in return, his hands sliding under Sasha’s tux tails, grabbing his ass.
Sasha kissed his neck, his throat, nuzzled his bowtie, inhaled the cologne he’d watched Sergey put on hours before. It had worn thin, and beneath the woodsy scent, there was Sergey’s musk, a hint of his sweat. His cock strained against his trousers, painfully erect for Sergey.
Sergey ripped Sasha’s jacket from his shoulders, shoved the sleeves down his arms. He tugged at Sasha’s shirt. Got his hands on Sasha’s skin, sliding his palms under Sasha’s shirt hem. Sasha gasped, curled into Sergey. Buried his face against Sergey’s cheek and pressed an open-mouthed groan to his temple.
His hands found Sergey’s fly. Beneath the zipper, Sergey’s erection pushed into his palm, hard as steel.
His mouth watered.
Sasha didn’t think, not about Mikhail, not about the ballroom full of Russia’s elite, not about his fears, his castigations, the dark mutterings he recited to himself in the dead of night. He didn’t think about anything other than Sergey’s cock, the taste of him.
His knees hit the floor.
Sergey sputtered, cursed. His hands wavered, uncertain. One landed on Sasha’s shoulder. His cock tented his boxer briefs, rising in an arc toward his taut belly, the hem of his crisp button down.
Sasha pushed Sergey’s shirt up and yanked his trousers and briefs down, over his ass and down to his thighs. He licked his lips. Pressed his tongue to the base of Sergey’s cock. He looked up and held Sergey’s stare as he licked from the base of his cock to the head, one long glide up the underside.
“Shit.” Sergey shivered and spread his legs. His breath hitched. He pushed his hips forward, chasing Sasha’s tongue.
Perfection. Sergey tasted like perfection, like how flying felt, like the wonder in his bones when he saw the blackness of space, the curvature of the Earth from the cockpit of his MiG. It was flying supersonic, it was ejecting and living, it was kissing Sergey after giving him a blowjob. It was every perfect moment in his life. He needed more. Needed everything from Sergey.
He got one hand under Sergey’s leg and hitched it over his own shoulder. Sergey’s belt smashed against him, the hem of his pants bunching around his thighs. But, yes, that was a better angle. He dove down, swallowing Sergey’s heavy cock, letting the thick head slide deep into his throat, until he was swallowing. Spit dripped from his lips, fell to the tiles between Sergey’s feet. He pulled back, and then sucked Sergey down again, all the way down, taking him into his throat. His nose buried in Sergey’s crotch, the wiry hair tickling Sasha’s nose and upper lip.
Sergey’s shout choked off into a high-pitched scream. His hands grasped Sasha’s shoulders, the slick marble behind him, slid through Sasha’s hair and gripped his strands too-tight before letting go.
Sasha groaned at his touch. He looked up, meeting Sergey’s wild gaze.Again, he begged with his eyes.Grab me again.
Sergey’s shaking hands landed on his head. Grasped his skull.
Sasha’s eyes rolled back in his head. He reached for his own fly and fumbled, trying to free his erection as he kept deep throating Sergey, kept swallowing his cock, kept sliding off his shaft and then back down. Sergey’s hands fisted his hair, pulling him into a faster rhythm, a harder thrust.
He groaned again.Yes. Do it.He flattened his tongue, hollowed his cheeks. Let Sergey thrust his hips in and out, fuck his mouth faster, harder. Opened his throat for more.
He was too close, dammit. Sucking Sergey in Sergey’s bed had been the hottest sexual encounter of his entire life, but this was rocketing past that, blindingly fast. He’d always had this weakness, this craving for men over him, above him, and it could so easily twist and turn into his basest desire. He wanted to cravenly please, to be a man who could bringthatlook to another man’s face, thanks to his mouth alone. He’d always wanted this, for a man he adored to want himthisway, to let him drop to his knees and take his cock thrusting into his own throat.
He wanted to bewanted. Fuck, he craved it.
His hand sped up, jerking himself almost hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. He was so close, but not yet, not yet, not until—
Sergey jerked once, twice more. He stared into Sasha’s gaze, his expression shattered, nothing but primal need on his face, a lust that Sasha had excavated beneath his polished, perfect, political exterior. Sergey’s hands grasped Sasha’s head, pulled him into his crotch, and held him there. Sasha’s nose buried in Sergey’s curls. He couldn’t breathe, for a moment.Yes, yes.
Sergey’s cock twitched, Sasha’s only warning.
Tears poured from the corners of Sasha’s eyes as Sergey exploded, as Sergey’s come flooded his mouth. His own jetted from his cock, blasted the tiles beneath his knees. He saw stars, tasted Sergey, gazed at the twin suns that lived in the center of Sergey’s eyes. Sergey was saying something, but he couldn’t hear him. The world was a roar, the sound of jet engines blasting off, the silence of space, the pound of his own heart racing.
Sergey pulled back, doubling over as he fell against the marble behind him. His cock slipped from Sasha’s lips. Sasha felt his absence like a physical ache, like a part of himself had been ripped away.
A line of drool connected them still, hanging from Sasha’s mouth to Sergey’s spent cock.
He tipped forward, burying his forehead in the crook of Sergey’s thigh. Sergey shivered. His thigh was still over Sasha’s shoulder. Gently, Sasha lowered it, running his hands over him, feeling the shape of his thin leg through the fabric.
“Sashunya…” Sergey reached for him. Sasha stood on shaking legs. Their flies were open, crotches a mess. Come stained the tiles between them. Sasha’s trousers were hopelessly wrinkled, and his jacket hung off one arm. “Sashunya…” Sergey lifted trembling fingers to Sasha’s swollen lips. His lips moved. No sound came out. He curled his hand around Sasha’s face, his neck, and pulled him close.
