Page 66 of Iblis' Affliction
“Did you come to Behçet’s bed like this too?” He wasn’t sure why he wanted to know, or even kept this conversation going. It wasn’t his business, but for some reason, this information felt vital.
Slater startled; his hands stopped, and his left eye twitched.
“Why? Is this the reason for Master’s disgust? Master doesn’t want to touch what Asani touched?” Skin blanching, Slater tried to control the intensifying tic beneath his eye. Fruitlessly.
“Answer me.”
Blue eyes frosted over, and a part of Talha’s soul instantly missed that boiling lust that reigned there a moment ago.
“Slater did. Unlike Master, Asani understood Slater’s needs and fulfilled them. He was a generous master…” Slater ran the back of his index finger across the scattering of white, wrinkled burns, decorating his lower belly. “…until Ifrit. Does Master want someone young too? Someone smooth and pretty? Is Slater no good?” The last words left his mouth like spite.
“Enough!” Hands clasping around Slater’s biceps, Talha shoved the reaper aside, revolted by the comparison and overshared information. Winning his freedom and a few seconds, he sat up only to shrink back as the reaper spun and surged at him. Plunging into the mattress, Talha barely managed to tug his right knee up to his chest, causing Slater’s solar plexus to collide with the sole of his foot.
“No, Master, not this time. Slater is tired of waiting. Don’t tell Slater he made a mistake. There, in the mosque, Master said you always get what you want. Slater believed you because Master said he wanted Slater. It was written in your eyes. The thirst that couldn’t be faked. Slater gave you a chance, even though Master didn’t fit. Was it a lie, Master?” The heavy gaze of pure, raw emotion charged through Talha’s core, making him wonder if it was hatred or lust or something else he observed. A labored breath washed his face in the sweet smell of freshly baked pastries. “Slater doesn’t think so. Slater is never wrong. Your thirst was pure. Then … why? Master has already fucked Slater twice. Why does Master refuse now? Want to hurt Slater to get in the mood?”
His tic intensified, as Slater shot a look of dissatisfaction down, but the next instant, his visage cleared, and a toothy smile split his face. His hips rocked against Talha’s erection. “Ohhh, Master is in the mood. Master is just being … shy. Adorable.”
“I told you to get the fuck off!” Tangling in the net of unwelcome arousal, Talha needed a second of quiet to collect his thoughts and control his needs, because whatever spell Slater cast, it was working. Thinking became harder and harder with every passing second. Giving in would be so easy now. Every cell of his body screamed for him to lean forward and crush Slater in an iron embrace so hard the reaper’s bones would crack in his arms. To slam into his willing body time after time, so Slater couldn’t stand for a week.Yeah,giving in would be so easy. Yet, something stopped him. Slater’s intentions lacked transparency, and because of it, Talha couldn’t come up with a consistent behavior strategy. If he fucked him now, Slater would take it as a green light and keep sneaking into his bed night after night. At that moment, Talha’s cock thought it was a brilliant idea; Talha’s mind insisted on the opposite.What’s next? Why does it have to be Master, and Master only?
“Slater doesn’t think so… Slater wants Master to look. Slater wants Master to touch…”
Swaddling his fingers around Talha’s ankle, Slater guided the captured foot down his stomach until the sole reached his groin.
Talha stopped breathing as Slater’s cock throbbed under his foot. His heart echoed in his fingertips and small veins under his eyes. Like a paralysis demon, Slater took his ability to blink and swallow. He could only watch the glossy cockhead slip up and down under his toes as Slater’s hips moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm.
Massaging the red, blood-pumped flesh, he had to admit that the touch didn’t gross him out. Contrariwise, he was rock-hard.
A clear drop of precum, rolling out of the slit, changed the velvety texture of Slater’s cock making it slippery, tender. His foreskin moved with every thrust, hiding and revealing the violent-red head.
A pounding filled Talha’s ears. He wasn’t sure if the sound came from the pulsing veins of Slater’s cock beneath his toes, or those were thuds of his heart. Like ritual drums, the beat entranced him, instilling a primeval urge into his core. One he never knew he possessed.
What Slater offered had an intoxicating taste of freedom. Unlike with a woman, this didn’t have to be gentle. Unlike with a woman, he didn’t have to control himself. Talha wondered how it would feel to completely let go. To let himself dissolve in lust and passion without thinking about hurting his partner. To go as fast and brutal as he pleased. Like the last time, but without anger dulling his sensations.
Slater’s head snapped backward, providing with a perfect overview of his long neck, clean-shaven chin, and another cluster of mosquito bites. Shallow, short pants broke out of his throat, and his teeth bared in a painful grimace. A small, needy sound trembled in the air; Slater rolled his head to the side, sinking his canine tooth into his plump bottom lip.
Talha stopped understanding himself. He could have kicked the reaper out of his bed, beat the shit out of him, and leave his body in a pool of blood. He could have grabbed a gun and finish this madness here and now. Instead, he watched how flaming red spots bled through Slater’s skin, mixing with scatterings of insect bites. How Slater’s hips froze every time Talha’s heel bumped against his tight, drawn-up balls, and how small intakes of air accompanied abrupt twitches of his shoulders. How droplets of sweat coated his skin. Mixing with ointment, they flared in the golden electric light.
Talha could have stopped this all, instead, he craved to reach out and trail the thick veins on Slater’s neck; squeeze his throat to feel the beating of life beneath his fingertips. To hear air pass through the crushed trachea, and meet Slater’s pupils—dilated with need and pleading. To paint his skin with fingerprints so it would bruise for a week. He craved Slater so bad, his bones itched, but the reaper slanted away. Pressing one palm against the mattress behind him, the reaper bowed his chest; his head fell backward as his breath trapped in his throat. Desperate thrusts of his hips quickened, and Talha’s mind blanked. His mouth burned with a desire to lean forward and taste the salt of Slater’s skin and paint his shoulders with bloody bite marks.
As if reading his mind, Slater’s head snapped forward, and a heavy gaze shot through his core. Hypnotizing, stripping of pride and morality, it corroded Talha’s soul, making him slowly accept the unacceptable.
At that moment, Talha truly believed that Slater could be Iblis because he couldn’t find another explanation for this doomed, diabolic lust.
A woman craved a man submitting to a law of nature. When a man craved a man it was haram[28]—a shameful sin. Yet Slater wasn’t just a man. The bloodiest murderer of Anatolia, who mowed down souls and lives as if they were nothing, spread his legs for him. At that moment, Talha understood the Quran. Just like with Adam and Eve, Iblis offered a temptation of forbidden fruit. But instead of knowledge, he offered power. The power to control the world and the devil. In exchange for his soul.
Talha had sinned. He’d killed, defrauded, kidnapped, and smuggled. Yet, despite straying from the loins of Islam, he somehow believed he wasn’t completely doomed. Like there was still hope for salvation.
What Slater offered felt final, irrevocable. Because this time, sex wouldn’t be forced by circumstances or alcohol. Because after this time, Slater would come to his bed and stay till morning, and what now felt like a mortal sin would soon become something regular, acceptable, welcomed. Talha figured it by looking in Slater’s eyes.
Plump lips stretched, approaching, and Talha’s whole entity concentrated on a white stripe of his teeth. They parted as if Slater wanted to consume him, and demanding words broke through. “Yes, Master, look at Slater.”
The remains of Talha’s will hung on the flimsy bridge his leg provided. If Slater slapped his foot away, Talha would have given in without a second thought. But Slater never did. His long lashes trembled, unveiling crescents of his eyes, murky with the heavy fog of thoughtless passion. He gasped for air, dropping his weight forward, as an agonizing grimace wrenched his mouth to the side. Needy noises at the back of his throat morphed into guttural groans before Slater sucked a mouthful of air, then stopped breathing.
Mirroring Slater’s reactions, Talha’s air passages blocked as he couldn’t divert his eyes from the reaper, drinking in the contortions of his face. The longer he watched, the more entranced, intoxicated, he became.
His whole being was pure, pulsing heat. The room melted in front of his eyes, smudging the rich colors of his Persian carpets, as his focus followed a trajectory of a shimmering drop, skating down from Slater’s neck to his chest until it disappeared in his hollow belly button.
Slater’s jaw dropped as a cry of desperation passed through the vent of his throat. Every cell freezing in attention, Talha watched Slater’s cock twitch, pulse, and spill creamy mess all over his foot.
