Page 2 of Iblis' Affliction
“No,” Talha said without looking up.
“Why not?” Slater’s aggressive attention returned to his master. Seconds ticking in his head, he studied Talha’s intelligent eyes scrolling through the paper but Master said nothing more. The caged agitation that he’d tried to suppress from the moment of his release now buzzed in every cell ready to discharge. One minute, two, Slater waited; when he grew tired, the blade met with the stone again. Falling into the trance the rhythmical sound provided, Slater didn’t notice a hand entering his private space, and the whetstone was snatched from his hand. Slater met his master’s warning gaze.
“Be quiet,” Talha ordered as his hand slipped the whetstone into the inner pocket of his beige jacket.
Slater loved his master’s timbre. Just like the sun-weathered face, Talha’s voice was dry, rough, entrancing. It never failed to make Slater hold his breath to taste his every word.
Using the moment, Slater complained, “I’m bored, Master…”
Talha glanced over the paper, and every small hair on Slater’s arms rose in anticipation.
“Master?”
“Are you done?” Talha spoke after a brief silence.
“Yes…”
“Did you memorize everything already?”
The soft words flowed through Slater’s system, making him crave the touch of fire and ice only his master could provide. “Yes.”
“Then watch clouds.”
“For four hours?” Slater almost choked on his saliva, but Talha’s focus had already abandoned him. The man lifted the paper, and Slater lost his patience. Flipping the blade in the air, he leaned over and sliced the thin paper from top to bottom. The long sheet fell apart in Talha’s hands, forcing the man to grant him his whole attention.
From the corner of his eye, Slater saw Zaal grabbing his gun. His finger eager to pull the trigger as a grin of excitement stretched his mouth. The black muzzle of the gun burned Slater’s temple, but he didn’t care. The tension compressed and sprung in his chest as the liquid amber of Talha’s eyes oozed into his soul. Heaving a sigh, Talha dismissed Zaal with a flick of his wrist, then folded the shredded paper in the middle.
“So needy... What do you want, Mutt?”
“Play with me…”
“No.” The sharp reply made Slater’s cheek twitch.
“I’m bored, Master. Play with me.” Irritation found its way into his voice alongside the demanding notes.
“No. I need you fit.” Not compromising, Talha glanced at his watch. “Entertain yourself. I have to work.”
“Fine…” Slater hissed.
Talha reached under his seat and pulled out the laptop. Slater’s focus slipped down but stumbled over the shirt. Too many pieces of clothing covered this muscular body for Slater’s liking. The desire to spoil Talha’s designer suit, so the man would strip, poisoned his blood.
His tennis shoe bumped against the black leather of the seat in front, as Slater spread his legs apart. The zipper vibrated against his groin, coming undone slot by slot a moment before he shimmed his ass out of his jeans and took his heavy cock into his palm. His gaze traveled up Talha’s smooth, square jaw to the hard line of his mouth. Five years older than Slater, Talha was broader, an inch taller, and a bit more muscular. At thirty-three, with his hair brushed back, he looked a couple of years older. His slightly arched brows and nose, broken in fights, enhanced his predatory aura.
Lust spiked Slater’s blood, splashing red desire all over his vision. Relaxing against his seat, he licked his lips. Talha’s rough skin allured him to lean closer and moisten it with his tongue.
At the hazy edge of his vision, Zaal’s face contorted in disgust, the conflict of interests twisting his features in an unreadable grimace. Slater didn’t care.
The air scraped his throat with every shaky breath; precum leaked over his fingers, marring his jeans. The uncomfortable atmosphere thickened as emotions streamed through the air. Disgust, hatred, contempt, discomfort, ignorance—all had colors and scents that crawled under Slater’s skin, igniting his depravity. His soul burned with all-consuming arousal. Slater craved Talha to look, and Talha did.
A surprised glance held and lingered. The rough mouth curled up in a lopsided smirk as a long, index finger brushed over the chapped lips, betraying Talha’s building arousal. Slater shivered under his cannibalistic stare.
“Need help?” Talha murmured. The cloud of discomfort emitting from Zaal darkened.
Slamming his laptop closed, Talha put it aside and removed the table. The papers scattered over the floor. His foot slid up the denim fabric toward Slater’s groin. Pressing down, it scratched the skin on the back of Slater’s hands and terminated the stimulation. Not gentle, not caring, but rough, authoritative, merciless. Pressure crushed Slater’s cock and balls, making him shudder.
“Hurts…” The weak complaint only made Talha’s lips twitch.
“Hands.” The husky voice seeping into Slater’s soul demanded obedience.
