Friday, November 13, 2015

Here's a smoldering tidbit from Broken Pieces, my next work.

     Peter and Remi decided on a movie, then dinner, but the heat building between them was reaching a fevered pitch. They’d made it through the movie, though neither would remember later. Their wandering fingers wound themselves through fabric, pulled at buttons and eased beneath to find warm skin, wrapped long fingers around eager cocks and caused greedy thumbs to smear precome over spongy heads. The quiet gasps, the shivers, the tiny earthquakes along flesh were too much. Rather than move on to the restaurant where Remi had actually called ahead and reserved a table, they opted to forgo food of the savory kind in favor of savoring each other.
     Remi pulled into the parking space hard, the tires almost smoking but nowhere near as hot as they were for each other. He stepped from his truck and moved quickly to the passenger side. He took Peter’s hands and drew him close. Remi’s fingers mapped Peter’s slim, muscular frame, and Remi’s cock struggled for freedom. The nip he felt on his lips from Peter blazed against his soul. Startled, he opened his eyes to see Peter’s eyes glowing, red embers within. He was hypnotized by the tongue that swept drops of his blood into Peter’s sweet mouth. Remi wanted his dick in there, pushing against those sharp teeth, fucking his throat.
     “Inside,” he growled.
     “Of course, darling,” Peter purred, his hands roving over Remi’s body. “Come.”
     Remi barely remembered the distance they must have covered to get to the elevator that would take them to Peter’s floor. He was in a haze, lost in need and lust. Lips, touch, skin, and more. 
He craved. More. More.
     Inside Peter’s home, Remi’s senses took over, his desire to be with Peter—inside Peter—paramount to any other want. Peter’s bedroom was colorful, with a large mirror, a long chair, and a couple of dogs in the shadows, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was the fucking beautiful man that stood before him, eyes hooded with a sly, eager smile on his face.
     “I fucking need you, like water in a dessert. I want to drink you, take you into my soul.”
    “I am yours, Remi. Feed from me,” Peter said as he moved closer. He looked up into Remi’s eyes, his hair a silvery waterfall behind his back. “Take all of me.”
     “Your clothes,” Remi said. He touched Peter’s shoulders and bent down to kiss him gently. “So many clothes.” Remi grasped the shirt, that purple tease that had played him during the movie, and shredded it down the front. “Ahhhh. Skin. Your skin feels so good.”
     “Damn it, Remi. I’ve only worn that once.”
     “Keep it for a memory. I’ll buy you another one, but I can’t wait for you to get out of this straightjacket of yours. How the hell did you even get into these things?"Remi groaned with impatience. "I have to get my fingers—my mouth—on you everywhere, get my teeth on that juicy ass of yours, mark your pearly skin.” Remi bent again and sank his teeth into the space between Peter’s neck and collar bone.
     Peter’s cry was needy, wanton. “Oh, my sweet, sweet man. What you do to me,” he whispered.      “What you do to us.” The words were a growl, and just that quickly, Remi was off his feet and slammed onto the bed.
     “What. The. Fuck.” Remi looked up in surprise as he took in a different Peter before him. Like the light from the purest porcelain, a radiant glow lit up Peter’s face, shining from within with an intensity that did nothing to quell the hunger in Remi’s soul.
     Slowly, inch by painstaking inch, Peter bent toward him, and then even slower than that, he crawled up his frame. Peter was warm, so warm, as he touched and tasted, licked and sucked, teased and devoured Remi. The whip of his tongue along Remi’s flesh pulled sounds from him, foreign sounds, whimpers and pleas and gasps. Peter tore noises from him and ravaged his skin, his teeth sliding and scraping, wounding and breaking him. The length of his legs, the raised arc of his torso, his fingers, his shoulders, his lips—no part of him was spared from Peter’s exploration. Every touch was a gift, a flame that burned straight through him. Peter’s fingers pressed against him, molding him, owning him, and Remi submitted to the brand. He gave himself over willingly, accepting, reveling.
     “You’re my gift, Remi Devereaux. The goddess gave you to me, gave you to us.”
     Remi sighed into Peter’s sweet kiss. Oh, Peter made him feel perfect, and his body hummed for him, Remi the pitch and Peter the tuning fork. “So much, Peter. God. So much.”
     “I’ll give you more, Remi. So much more if you let me. Let me show you what we can be, my heart. What you can have.” Peter ran his teeth along Remi’s neck, traced the vein there, and bit at the skin, pulling and twisting. “Let me show you what it feels like to be worshipped.”
     “Oh, God, Peter. Yeah, baby. Right there.”
     Peter pulled up his sweater, exposing his abdomen. He drew circles along his skin, fingertips dancing in the grooves and cuts of his body, making him tremble and shake with pleasure.
Remi couldn’t keep still, couldn’t stop the orchestra of blissful sounds, the cacophony of grunts and pleas that tore from his soul. Pleasure was everywhere, all over him, so good, it was painful. He was at Peter’s mercy, would have knelt at his feet and worshipped him, and he was grateful.
     Soft words played along his ear, feather-light but magnified with heat that worked to further torment him. “I’ve fantasized about this, sweetheart, my mind filled with thoughts of you beneath me, at my mercy, begging for my touch. I love the sounds you make.” Peter’s tongue licked along his skin and Remi trembled. “I love the way you tremble for me, darling.”

     Remi was strong, stronger than most humans, but there he lay beneath Peter, subject to his wants. The nights Peter spent with his hand gripping his cock while he dreamed of this moment were nothing compared to reality, to actually having the body, the work of art, writhing and begging, wanting and needing him. The whimpers, the near sobs, were music to him, the grunts a symphony. Peter slid up that beautiful temple of organic artistry.
     “Peter, the way you…. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”
     Peter moved then, sat up and just stared at the man who lay before him, struggling for contact, reaching up to pull him close again. “No, my love,” Peter said tenderly.
     Remi looked up, eyes hooded, breath coming fast. “What? ‘No’ what, Peter?”
     “Let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good.” Oh, that look, that vulnerability that crossed Remi’s face was to be treasured.
     “Take care of me?” Remi’s eyes searched him, searched his expression, disbelieving.
     “What, baby?”
     “I. Cherié, usually I’m the one. I’m….”
      “Usually taking care of your lover?” Peter walked his fingers along the lines of Remi’s body as he spoke. “Ensuring the other person’s needs are met?”
     “Yes,” Remi sighed.
     Peter ran his hand up that muscular inner thigh before he unbuttoned Remi’s pants. He slid the soft leather down Remi’s powerful thighs and over his long legs before pulling his loafers and socks off. In moments he had the lower part of Remi uncovered. “Remi, you are so strong. So powerful. And I find it like a delicious desert wine, worthy of savoring. But you are not the only strong one in this.” He ran a nail down the cashmere that dressed Remi’s divine frame. He kissed him softly and before Remi's reaching fingers could grasp him, he was up again. “I have my own power.” He drew his nail along one impressive arm, then the other. “But I would rather show you my control, my desire to enjoy you, please you, use my strength to treasure you.” He watched as the cashmere fell away, nothing more than velvety scraps of fabric now.
     Remi looked from side to side and saw what he had done. “How?”
     Peter's eyes moved to take in his. “Power should be used precisely. You, my lovely man, are worth that preciseness. I want to feel you, enjoy you, and luxuriate in you.” Faster than light, Peter was next to him, teeth at his nipple, his soft laugh after the shocked gasp that flew from Remi’s lips an indication of his happiness.
     “Ugh. Oh. Peter.”
     “Yes.” Peter smiled. “My name sounds so very pretty on your tongue. Such a lovely resonance , especially when it echoes like a prayer.” He eased back, his skin sliding over Remi’s once again, drawing out the touch, the titillation.
     Remi slid his fingers through Peter’s hair and pulled free the braid he wore, the silken strands slipping and sliding over his frame, his sighs a testament to the bliss that followed its contact.
     Farther and farther Peter traveled until he was where he most wanted to be. The rich manly scent and the warmth that radiated around Remi’s cock and balls enthralled him, made his canines ache to be filled with the blood that flowed there. He wanted to draw his tongue along the length and swallow deeply. Just the thought and the creatures beneath his flesh grew, their awareness even more present.
     Claws and teeth. Teeth and claws. Hold and capture. Make him theirs.
     He bent and buried his nose in the scent of Remi, darted his tongue out to sample the flesh. The telltale signs of Remi’s arousal were so much more delectable here—the spurt of precome, the rigid hardness that bounced with a pulse of its own. He loved it and he wanted more.
     Peter raised just his head, slipped out his tongue, and swiped a taste of the fragrant drops at the crown of Remi’s dick before he stretched his mouth open to take in the wide head and slid his way down to the hilt.
     “Arrgh!” Remi’s groan was loud, his hands tight as he gripped Peter’s head, pulled the strands of hair tighter, and ground his way in.

     Shit, the way Peter took him was too much and not enough. Hot and wet. Fucking good. So damn good. Deeper and deeper, and still not enough until—fuck. He was right there, right there at the back of his throat, pumping his cock into that sweet, sweet mouth. Oh God. Fucking him so damn good.      The noises Peter made while he took him, while he engulfed him, were decadent, made Remi move faster, faster, pump harder. Breathe. He had to let the man breathe, but damn. He just pushed his dick in more, thrust harder and deeper until he shook, he trembled. The slurps and the muffled groans from Peter were so good to hear, and before Remi knew it, he was coming, loud and harsh. He gasped for air, pumping erratically as his body chased the orgasm that blew his mind.
     His hands fell to the side while he lay gasping for breath, his dick limp and oversensitive. Peter gave gentle licks, cleaning him. Finally, Peter was over him, his lips swollen from the battering of Remi’s dick. Peter kissed him, fed him his come, shared his taste with him, and Remi loved it, gloried in the wicked feel of something that felt so right.
     “Peter, baby.”
     “Yes, sweeting?”
     “Oh yes. I would agree. You were so damned good.” Peter smiled, gloated even.
     Remi groaned, laughing.
     Peter ran his fingers over Remi’s skin lightly, circling his nipple as Remi’s breaths slowed to normal—or as normal as they could be as he lay next to his greatest fantasy. Before Peter, he’d never thought about a man pleasuring him with his mouth before. The things Peter could do with that tongue would make sure he never forgot.
     “I want to please you. Make you feel good.”
     “You just did.”
     It was then that Remi felt the telltale wetness along his thigh, sticky and chilled, signs of Peter’s own pleasure. How fucking hot was that? Merde, how would that taste? He’d be lying if he said he’d never tasted his own come, but the come of another man? Of Peter? Suddenly he couldn’t wait to sample Peter’s juices, find out what the essence of Peter tasted like.
     He arced up and flipped until he was on top of Peter, his hands tight around Peter’s wrists.

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