Page 72 of How to Bare Your Neck and Save a Wreck
Shane quite clearly devoured him with his gaze, a fresh flush coming to his cheeks as his attention finally settled on the bulge between Andres’s legs. Andres smirked at him. “Did I say you could look yet?”
“No,” Shane breathed, and averted his gaze obediently.
“I hardly said you could look away, either. You should see what your future holds, my little swan.” Andres perched on his knees between Shane’s thighs and pressed his thumb into Shane’s mouth to turn his head back towards him, and as he did, he repositioned himself, drawing up his cock until the tip nudged out the top of his underwear.
The little sound Shane made, desperate and timid, was pure perfection.
“Let me see what I’ll be having from you, my pet.” Andres drew his thumb out of Shane’s mouth, trailing over his lower lip and down the front of his throat. The robe was held together with a few small ties and buttons, which he worked free as he moved down, slowly unveiling Shane from the center of his sternum to the little glucose monitor on the back of his arm. He outlined each rib as he had earlier, this time working downward, drawing his fingers along the soft curve of Shane’s hips and into the line where his pelvis met his thighs, slowly peeling back the fabric that had bundled there.
Shane was as magnificent below as he was everywhere else, light brown curls neatly trimmed around his slit, and the spread of his legs already revealed the two-inch length of himself, ripe to be played with.
“This is fun.” Andres swirled his fingers through his little swan’s lower hair, gripping it ever so gently as he slid Shane’s slit further open.
Shane trembled beneath the touch, his lip pulled into his mouth. He didn’t budge, though, letting Andres admire him.
“Tell me,” Andres purred, giving Shane a smirk that showed off his fangs. “What are you?”
Shane’s muscles pulsed, the moisture inside him beading around his edges. “Yours.”
“And what am I allowed to do to you?”
“Anything.” It was a plea, one that shuddered through Shane as Andres pressed the tip of a finger into him, drawing his wetness up toward that little glorious clit-dick.
“Whatam I allowed to do?” he asked again, grasping it between his fingers, gentle but firm. He rubbed directly against the head.
Shane cried, soft and staggering, his hips giving a little buck, but he replied with purpose, “Anything! I’m yours. You can do whatever you wish to me.”
Andres let him go. He drew his finger back down, massaging it into Shane’s folds just to see where it would make him tense with pleasure. It was quickly obvious that Andres’s nails were an ungodly length for it, though—even ifthatwas alsojustthe right length for trailing teasingly and gently scraping. But Andres had more than nails.
He stole a pillow from the head of the bed and slid it under Shane’s ass, lifting him enough to breath against him, letting this muskier version of his swan’s scent merge with that of the blood still lingering on his lips. He bared his fangs. A little quaver ran through Shane, but he didn’t protest when Andres gripped his thighs, forcing them further apart and holding them in place.
Andres pressed his lips to Shane’s tender flesh, then his tongue, roughly, and finally slipped in a fang. It was just a prick, the angles awkward for much else, and he didn’t even bother trying to feed—blood wasn’t the point. He’d had enough for one night—now he wanted to give back.
As his venom flowed into Shane, his little swan gasped, his brow tight and his lips parting so beautifully. A shudder rolled through him as he tightened and released. The sigh that slipped out of him came between fast and steady breaths of desire.
Andres licked the tiny prick closed, once, twice, and a third time just to see Shane squirm. The added pressure on the place his venom had just been released was clearly doing something for him. Andres ran his tongue over the fang. “How many of those do you figure it will take you to come?”
“Oh god,” was Shane’s response. He tipped his head back.
“Give me a number,” Andres commanded. He slipped his fangs into the soft skin half an inch above his first placement, and let Shane have another dose of venom.
He whimpered, his toes curling, and his answer came out tight and desperate. “Fourteen?”
“Fourteen it is then.” And Andres got to work.
Shane languished with pleasure beneath each administration, a sea of delicious sounds and tremors. By the seventh prick, he was curling his back, his arms tucking around his head and he lifted his gaze to the ceiling with the sound of a suppressed moan.
“Look at me, my pet,” Andres ordered him. “You will look me in the eyes while you come apart.”
Shane swallowed, and brow tight, lips parted, he stared back at Andres. The pink in his cheeks deepened, but he breathed, “Yes, love,” and it sounded more like a promise of eternal submission than any utterance of master or mistresses ever could.
He broke at prick twelve, crying out as his body tightened. Andres didn’t let up though, sliding the last and largest two doses directly into Shane’s clit before he’d finished. As he lay limp and panting, his clit twitching and swollen and the robe splayed beneath him, Andres sat back up. He fiddled with thehair between Shane’s legs, massaging two fingers along his folds to keep him gently quivering.
“Iamgoing to fuck you, pet,” he said, as dark and sultry as he ever had before. “You don’t get to decide whether I do, only where I do it… here.” He leaned forward as he said it, pressing the two fingers now musky with Shane’s wetness into his mouth and dragging them once along Shane’s tongue for emphasis. Shane swallowed after, his lashes fluttering in time to the bob of his throat. “Or here.” Andres slid those same fingers against his little swan’s front hole, coating them in a fresh layer of the slickness. He drew them further back. “…or here.”
As he rubbed the rim of Shane’s asshole, he felt the shudder that ran through his little swan like a physical ache of desire, so bright and hot and strong.
“Thereit is, then.”
