Page 106 of Damian & Jun, Episodes 9-12
Jun locked his jaw.
Damian pinched his nose. “You can’t keep your teeth closed forever.”
Jun jerked, turning his head back and forth.
Damian bit the back of Jun’s neck hard. Without warning.
Jun screamed. The gag slammed past his teeth, pressing down on his tongue. The leather wrapped around his mouth and cheeks. Damian buckled it in place, fingers working fast behind and around the top of Jun’s head. Then he pushed Jun’s face back into the cot and stroked his hair back from his eyes.
Jun tried to swallow around the gag. He pulled and twisted. It was useless. He was naked, hog-tied, and muzzled with a gag. And the damned need to fight hadn’t diminished one bit.
Damian eased off Jun’s back and settled beside him, stroking the hair away from Jun’s ear. He reached over Jun’s body deeper into the cave and picked something up.
“My beautiful prey,” Damian murmured, speaking more to himself. He lay down beside him, stroking his back and down over his hip to his thigh. “My clever, beautiful boy. My wolfling.”
Jun growled in the back of his throat.
Damian stroked the curve of his ass, then squeezed it, gently at first, then more roughly, pinching and juggling the globes of his buttocks. Jun groaned and tossed his head.
“You’re going nowhere, little one.” Damian nipped at Jun’s shoulder with his teeth, once, twice, and then harder, taking a full bite on the fleshy part of Jun’s arm.
Gah! Jun swirled around inside his head. Everything was bottled up, his movement, his voice, the strain of the hog-tie. Either he kept his legs tense or he pulled on his arms and shoulders. He was both in the moment and completely distracted, off balance.
He flexed his legs. All that did was pull on his arms and leave him with his knees parted.
Damian slid his hand down between Jun’s thighs, stroking his fingers over Jun’s balls. Guh. It was one thing to have his balls handled when they were making out or rubbing off against each other or even when they were fucking and making love.
This—this was different.
“Settle, boy. There’s no choice now. This is mine.” He pushed Jun’s legs farther apart and lifted Jun onto his side just enough to pull Jun’s cock down. He trapped it pointing straight down between Jun’s thighs. With his fingers, he traced lines down Jun’s vulnerable length and scraped his thumbnail across the slit.
Fuck. That was a sensation.
Jun pressed his face into the soft cot. The urge to fight against the indignity of it all was very uppermost of mind, but so was the need to give in, to go forward to this place where Damian was leading. The needs battled each other inside his chest until he was almost sick. Damian rubbed his thumb over the head of Jun’s cock. It was so much. Good and infuriating.
And it was Damian. DaSu. Alpha.
He canted his hips and eased his knees apart. He needed either more or less. It wasn’t even sexual; it was…whatever this was, this primal thing between them.
“Is that submission, wolfling?”
Jun cursed behind the muzzle. If Damian didn’t do something soon, if he could get out of these ropes, he was going to truss Alpha up himself and play with him instead.
Damian dragged his thumb down Jun’s crease, the pad of his digit catching and pulling on Jun’s hole. He rubbed circles against Jun’s taint and handled his balls like he was playing with a toy. There was no intention of making him hard or soft.
Jun was his, and he was merely handling his property.
Frustration rolled through him. There was nowhere for it to go. It swirled and settled by degrees, the strain on his arms and legs and the helplessness of being voiceless taking him down by degrees. Damian petted him, his fingers leaving no dignity untouched, from Jun’s feet to his taint and from his nose to his ribs.
He sank into the cot, eyes sliding half shut. The petting was hypnotizing. Damian’s voice was soothing, but the things he said sparked flickers of fight now and then in Jun’s belly.
“There you go, boy. Give in.”
Jun breathed out his nose. He wasn’t giving in. He was waiting, the only thing he could do. As the strain stripped away ability to fight, a need grew in his belly. He needed that praise. If he had to be exposed, he needed that touch. If he was an object, he had to be precious.
He strained, sliding his knees farther apart, tilting his hips up. He let his limbs relax, taking the strain on his shoulders as inevitable.
Fuck. His thoughts slid sideways into pure sensations. He was spinning, helpless, needy. Empty. Control was slipping through his metaphorical fingers. He snatched at it, catching some and losing track of other bits. Like the invasion taking place.
