Page 10 of Bonds of Blood
Again Sylvain struggled and grunted as he squeezed himself into the shirt, just barely slipping his arm through the second sleeve, straining to get the collar over his head. I bit my bottom lip, waiting for the inevitable.
There it was. A loud rip.
“Oh no,” I muttered, trying my very hardest to sound disappointed, because I positively wasn’t. “You ripped it.”
One tear under the arm, and another running down the chest. This Grecian statue of a man, hulking out like that, busting at the seams. I liked to believe that I wasn’t the type to succumb to something so base and carnal, this hypermasculine imagery.
Quite the cliché, wasn’t it? And for good reason. A powerful werewolf tearing through his human clothing as he transformed, or an actual monster of a man literally grown too big for his britches. But all those muscles. Those broad shoulders. Sylvain, standing right there with his arms and his chest. Who could resist?
“I am so, so very sorry, Lochlann.” He reached for the ragged flaps in the front, as if folding them together might somehow salvage the shirt. “I didn’t mean to — goodness, not even Satchel can save this now.”
He was right. Satchel was a wizard with a sewing needle, but he wasn’t an actual wizard. What Sylvain didn’t know was that Satchel would be delighted to repurpose the torn fabric for some other project. He loved raiding Dr. Fang’s crafting drawers for scraps. This wasn’t much different. We weren’t really wasting anything. I just had to make up a story about how we tore it in the first place.
“Come here,” I said, only faintly aware of the fact that I’d brought myself to my knees.
Gods, what kind of power did Sylvain hold over me? Sometimes I still wondered which one of us was the summoner or the eidolon. He obliged, an uncertain swagger in his hips. He could pretend he didn’t want my mouth as much as he liked. His feelings were very clear, based on the small, darker gray spot on the crotch of his sweatpants.
I didn’t have to say anything more. What use were words for snatching his waistband and pulling his pants to the floor? His cock sprang out, fully at attention. I didn’t hesitate. I couldn’t. In front of that mirror, on my knees, I closed my lips over the head of his cock and began to do one of my favorite things in the world.
He rolled his head back and groaned. I watched as his hands searched at thin air, like he wasn’t sure where to place them. Behind his head? On my shoulders? Additional, though smaller ripping noises came when he stretched out his arms, having chosen the perfect place to rest his hands.
Sylvain grabbed the back of my head, thrust himself deeper. I breathed through my nostrils, inhaled sharply, nearly struggling from the size of him. My fingers dug into his thighs as I hung on for the ride. Sylvain could be gentle when he wanted, but when he played rough — gods above and below, this was hot.
Two of him fucking me in the mouth, the man standing before me and his perfect reflection in the mirror. It was strange and yet sensual, seeing his double have his way with someone who looked like me in the polished glass. And then I noticed that he was watching himself, too, admiring himself as he thrust inward, the powerful muscles in his thighs working with brutal efficiency as he worked himself to greater and greater heights.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, but when I glanced up to meet his gaze, his eyes were on me.
Was he talking to himself in the mirror, something I’d just missed, or was the compliment intended for me? It didn’t matter. I liked it both ways. I liked his confidence, his strength, the love he bore in his heart for himself and for those around him.
The day we met, Sylvain hissed and spat like an angry kitten at the thought of being made to wear clothes. Now he was doing it for me, for the ones I loved. And there I was on my knees receiving his cock in my mouth, a summoner tending to his eidolon’s every need. Could things get any better?
Yes. They could. He shoved himself fully in my mouth, down my throat, crying out as he unloaded thick streams of his seed. Into me. Inside me. He shuddered as he held tightly on a fistful of my hair, never pulling too hard, somehow still maintaining control even as he lost it completely.
I received. I swallowed. I backed away, unhooking his fingers from my hair, just far enough so I could go back to the real work of sucking him dry, sucking him clean.
“Fuck,” he murmured, his thigh quivering, his fingers stroking under my chin. “Yes, Lochlann. Perfect. Just like that.”
Every last drop. I pulled his cock out of my mouth at last, still hard, ready to go within minutes, if not seconds if I begged him hard enough. But I was going to let my prince rest, if only for a moment. His hand fell heavily on my shoulder as he brought himself to the floor, kneeling to match me, pressing a kiss against my lips. His tongue swept against mine, appreciative, deeply grateful. He pulled away and offered me a lopsided smile.
“That was a very cruel trick you played, making me rip this shirt.”
I smacked him in the chest. “You’re the one who picked it! And you were the one in here playing sexy dress-up. I thought I’d walked in on you trying to fuck a pumpkin. Again.”
He shrugged. “Then I got what I wanted after all. You’re a little better than a pumpkin, I suppose.”
I shoved him harder, laughing. “You’re such an ass, Sylvain.”
“So, about those clothes. Do you think I look good in any of them?”
“Of course I do,” I said, slinging my arms over his shoulders. “You look good in anything. But personally, I think you look best when you’re naked.”
“Well, isn’t that funny?” Sylvain grabbed the front of my shirt and licked his lips. “I was thinking the exact same about you.”
6
“So you’re sayingthat this thing around Lochlann’s neck facilitates his control over these elemental guardians? Very curious, indeed.”
Two copies of my father stared at me from within the library of the Wispwood. One hung from the wall above the librarian’s counter, a massive portrait of Baylor Wilde in his youth, what was supposed to be the height of his power.
