Page 110 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
Léon took a breath to speak, but quickly had his mouth stuffed full of hot cock. His eyes rolled back with the heady onslaught of sex and violence and Henry and all his daydreams fulfilled and more.What a perfect night.
But Henry was beginning to lose his grip on the situation. That sexual energy that shot from every inch of Léon, all of itamplified with his fantasy playing out, took over him. He let out a deep groan. “Fuck, Ange, you’re so perfect.”
Léon slapped his ass. Hard.
“Sorry. I mean, uh…” Henry put on his gruffest voice. “Take it, you filthy whore. Swallow the lot down your— Oh fuck.”
Léon choked back a laugh, which wasn’t hard to do with his mouth so very full.
But the way that cold blade then fell across his jaw… Henry tightened his grip in his hair and wrenched him in till his dick hit the back of his throat. And fuck, it felt good. To be Henry’s plaything, his toy, the thing that pleased him. He wanted Henry to lose control. And that’s exactly what Henry did.
The knife dropped to the ground with a clatter, a hand closed around the back of his head, and Henry fucked into his mouth, unrelenting, vicious. Léon’s eyes watered, a moan escaping him that was all sex, and he gave himself over to Henry’s control. The way Henry wanted him. Would choose to use him. The simplicity of being nothing more than Henry’s.
Henry’s orgasm built fast, not least because there was every chance someone would wander out that back door at any minute and find him sunk to his hilt in Léon’s indulgent mouth. He had a feeling Léon would have liked that. And he liked that. He wanted the world to know this gorgeous man was his, to see the way Henry fulfilled his every desire, that Henry was the only man who could give Léon what he wanted.
He yanked his hair back, twisting Léon’s face up to the scant light. “Just the tip.”
He toyed with Léon’s wet mouth, all while Léon gazed up at him, his hot, hazy, and longing look unbroken while Henry took his pleasure.
Now? Should he come now? To see those pink lips painted white, dripping…
Not yet. “Take your dick out.”
Léon’s hand moved to his breeches, and he pulled his beautiful cock free, so firm and gorgeous. Henry slid his own dick gently in and out of Léon’s mouth. “You lied to me. You said you didn’t want it. Then why are you so hard?”
Léon stroked his dick, desperate for the relief, ready to burst if only Henry would allow him to.
“Because you’re a slut. Say it.”
He pulled his dick to Léon’s lips, allowing the whispered, “I’m a slut.”
He drove it back in. “For me.”
On the gasp of air he was allowed, “For you, Monsieur. Only you.”
“That’s right. You’re a good little slut, aren’t you? Built to have this mouth fucked.”
Léon whined over his dick sliding deep.
“Fuck your hand like I’m fucking your mouth.”
Léon did as told, and what a sight he was. He was lost to pleasure, in the dream only Henry could make for him. It was ownership of every sort. Henry was so proud to be his, to be the one Léon chose to be compliant for, the one, of all men, Léon trusted. And now he couldn’t help but fuck his mouth with a smooth and deep rhythm, the fist in his hair turning to a caress, and he stopped talking lest he ruin the game. Because all he really wanted to say was that he loved him, worshipped the very ground he walked on. Loved him to the end of time and back. And at the thought, the orgasm took him by surprise. It burst out of him, a hot cascade down Léon’s throat that he didn’t flinch away from, that he drank down eagerly, lovingly, hungrily, Henry’s fingers clinging to him for support as his body was racked with ecstasy.
And when every drop was gone, when Henry was weak with pleasure, he pulled Léon to his feet and kissed him fiercely, his tongue tasting his own cum still fresh in his mouth. Then hedropped to his knees and finished Léon off. It didn’t take long. He’d been on a hair trigger since Henry hadn’t let him finish after his bath. He could have made him wait longer, but Henry needed him. Henry had to know he’d pleased Léon.
Léon took the act as permission, and came deep in Henry’s abiding mouth. He doubled over, bracing himself against the stone wall, touching delicate fingers to Henry’s thick and beautiful hair, then clamping down on his shoulder.
He was perfection. Henry was everything. He was happiness and safety and love personified.
The whole scene was too delicious, too perfect, and Léon’s back was against the wall again, Henry kissing him, too wonderful. He didn’t want to leave. He would have made his home in that alley with the rats and the rubbish and the mud. Anywhere. So long as he was with Henry.
A light peck fell on his cheekbone, and how Henry studied him, revered every feature. Then Henry gave him one last kiss, picked up his knife, and with a roguish smile, he disappeared back inside.
Léon stood in the alley, heart beating wildly, positive in every fibre of his being that he could never go another day of his life without Henry in it.
Léon searched for Henry as soon as he worked up the courage to go back inside. He was well aware the knees of his teal breeches must be black. He hoped the dark light of the cathedral would hide some of his dishevelment, cover the hasty fixing of hisravaged hair. But if he could just be back beside Henry, none of it would matter.
He spotted him fast, dazzling as ever, talking to some small group of men who laughed at his jokes. But even as he spoke, even as he smiled that gorgeous smile and entertained them all, his eyes sought Léon’s.
