Page 14 of Elixir of Strife
Leon trembled like I knew he would, the friction making him shake like a leaf. Like putty under my hands. Soft and pliant, despite the lean muscle all over his body, this squirrelly, slippery strength of his that made him faster than me, more agile.
But not stronger.
I trapped him against the counter again, kept him firmly in place, exactly where I could see him, appraise him, give him the carnal rewards he deserved. I wanted to indulge him, spoil him silly, show him new dimensions of pleasure.
Not to say that I considered him inexperienced at all. Leon could suck cock like nobody’s business, hard enough to make me see the gates of heaven, the edge of the universe. Still, there was a gentle, awkward naivety to him, how eagerly he wanted to please, how fully and deeply he gave of himself.
Emphasis on deep.
But this wasn’t a time for fucking. Again, I wanted to spoil him rotten, service him with the same thought and devotion he put into servicing me. And I knew just the ticket. I pulled his shirt up, gathering it near his chest, nudging his hand to make him hold it in place.
“Look at that fucking body,” I breathed, running my fingers along the hard ridges of his abs, his navel, those tantalizing lines at his hips that dipped under his waist.
Apollo’s belt, some called it. Others said it was the Adonis belt. Fucking gods and beautiful boys, right? Whatever. Leon belonged right up there with them. I traced each line with my thumb, slashing past his waistband each time in a deliberate diagonal, drawing a straight line toward his bulge.
I ran my hand up and under his shirt, feeling for the planes of his chest, pinching a nipple. “That fucking body,” I repeated.
Leon gasped, quivered. The lump in his throat bobbed as he gulped. “What about it?” he asked, shy, indignant, hellishly aroused, all at once.
“It’s gorgeous. It’s tight.” I bent in, speaking into his ear. “Made for fucking. Or being fucked. Either way.”
A little whine escaped past Leon’s lips. I kept my smile to myself.
“This hardly seems fair,” he protested. “How come you’re allowed to manhandle me?”
“Fine.”
I tucked the end of my shirt under my chin, keeping it in place so he could explore me, discover me. I worked damn hard on this body, and somehow, the way Leon looked at me made sure I knew that he knew it, too.
An intense sort of appreciation, his sticky, sneaky glances when I changed my clothes in front of him, when I lifted my shirt to scratch my belly, when I stretched my arms to yawn in the morning and his eyes sleepily memorized my biceps, my chest, my shoulders.
While he was distracted, fingers gliding through the divots in my chest and my stomach, I set my fingers to undoing his jeans. So easy to work with, mainly because Leon liked to wear the same style of button-flies.
His breathing hitched as I tugged them low enough to hang on his hips. Nearly naked would be enough. I hooked a finger under the waistband of his boxers, watching as he watched me, pulled them low. His cock flopped out, bounced once, standing erect at an incredibly vulgar angle, as if in salute. I smiled back.
No greater honor. I ran my thumb along the head of his cock, smearing that dollop of clear, sweet honey, growling deep in my chest when he squirmed under my touch. Leon’s hips bucked forward, then back and away, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to indulge or to restrain his urges. Very cute. So fucking cute.
“You can play with me, too,” I told him, amused at his petrification, how he might have forgotten to reciprocate.
That was okay. I’d planned to make this all about him, initially, but holding back was growing a lot harder as this went on, pun intended. He swallowed, fingers fumbling, trembling as he undid my pants, freed me from my briefs. I sighed, almost groaned at the sensation of going fully, completely hard, and again when he took me in his hand.
“Your hands,” Leon murmured. “They’re so rough.”
I tilted my head, curious, but concerned. “You always say that. Am I hurting you?”
He shook his head hard, swallowed harder. “No. I like it. Fucking love it.”
Almost a little too much, the flush in his cheeks, on the parts of his torso I could see like a raised red flag of warning. He was coming, and soon, too. I pressed our foreheads together, stole a deep, ravenous kiss. And then, when he wasn’t looking, I pressed our cocks together, too.
“Oh,” Leon sputtered, pulling away from my lips. “Oh, no. Oh, God.”
With two hands, ten fingers, I wrapped both of our cocks in that rough, red-hot embrace he seemed to like so much, stroking, pulling, grinding with my hips to add even more sensation.
Of all the places I could have looked as Leon came painfully close to climax, I somehow settled on his hands. His knuckles were white, fingernails digging into the counter. Good thing they were marble or he would have chipped the varnish clean off.
“Come for me,” I told him. “Come for me, Leon.”
And sweetly, meekly, obediently came the throttled cry from his wet, wailing mouth, threads and ropes of him bursting between my fingers, spattering my crotch, my belly, my cock. I stroked more, faster, harder, coming myself, soiling and streaking his stomach.
