The Story of Son(16)

He groaned and shut his eyes as if overwhelmed. In a very good way. “But you are small. You hold me so tightly now and yet I am much . . . larger where I am most male.”

“Believe me, you would fit.” She moved against his hand, pleasuring herself, wondering when the last time her inner harlot had come out.

Never.

He watched her body, her face, his eyes everywhere. His awe and fascination made it new for her, too.

“I find I want . . .” He cleared his throat. “I fear I have a . . . perversion.”

“What is it?”

“I want to kiss you here,” he said, running his thumb around her. “Because I want to swallow you.”

“Then do it.”

His eyes flared. “You would let me?”

“Oh, yes.” She laid her knees wide, undulating her hips. “And it’s not perverse.”

His hands smoothed the insides of her thighs, holding her in place as his mouth dipped in for a kiss. He moaned into her flesh at the first contact of their lips, and his huge body shuddered, the bed magnifying the shimmying movement so that his erotic anticipation added to hers. He was slow at first, learning carefully, his eyes looking up over her mound and past her belly and breasts to her face. He was watching her to make sure he was doing it right.

And was he ever.

“Yes . . .” she said hoarsely. “God, yes, I love it.”

He lifted his head and smiled at her; then he slipped his arms under her legs and lapped at her gently, slowly. At first. Soon, he was driving her hard, taking over until that purring sound he made became wild and cut through the darkness, the rhythmic pump paralleling the rush of her blood. There was no end to pleasure, no end to that swirling, darting tongue of his or his pliant lips or his hot breath against her or the orgasms she had.

When he finally lifted his head, she nearly wept.

She reached up and pulled him higher, ready to return the favor. Except, as she reached for the belt on his robe, he grabbed her hands.

“No.”

She could see his erection. The silk outlined its thickness. “I want to—”

“No.” His voice shot through the room and he shied away from her, shied away from what they both needed.

“We don’t have to . . . make love.” When he said nothing, she murmured, “Michael, you must be aching by now.”

“I will ease myself.”

“Let me ease you.”

“No!” He shook his head sharply. Then rubbed his face. “Forgive me my short temper.”

Considering how sexed up he must be, it was perfectly reasonable. “Just help me understand why.”

“You will try to negotiate the reason.”

“Because I want to be with you. I want to make you feel good.”

“That cannot be.”

He started to get off the bed.

“Don’t you do this,” she snapped. “Don’t shut me out.”

As Michael froze, she sat up and wrapped her arms around him. “I swear I will go slowly. We can stop whenever you want.”

“You will not . . . want what I have.”

“Don’t make up my mind for me. And if you’re embarrassed, get rid of all the light.”

After a moment, the room plunged into darkness.

She kissed his shoulder and eased him back to the pillows. Along the way, she found the tie to his robe and slipped it free.

His breath was coming in short bursts as she put her palms on his chest and stroked the pads of pectorals and his tight nipples. She went lower, on to his ribbed stomach, the muscles clenching under his smooth, hairless skin— She ran into the head of his erection and they both gasped.

Dear . . . Lord. It hadn’t dawned on her that it would be that long. But then . . . he was big all over.

Michael jerked and hissed as she gripped him with her hand. God, he was too thick for her to close her palm around, but she knew how to treat him right. She stroked him up and down and he moaned and worked his hips instinctually.

“I am . . .” He made an incoherent noise. “I am . . . so close. Already so close.”

She eased off, sweeping down to the base of him and—

Claire froze. And he stopped breathing.

There was something wrong. An abnormal ridge that went down to his— “Oh, Jesus . . . Michael.”

He pushed her hand away.

“You needn’t finish me,” he rasped.

She threw herself on top of him to keep him from running. “They tried to castrate you.”

Thank God they hadn’t succeeded.

“Why? Why did they—”

His body trembled, but not from anything sexual this time. “Mother thought . . . it would help control me. But I couldn’t let them do it. I hurt the doctor. Badly. That was when the chains came.” He forced her off him and she heard the rustle of his robe going back on. “I am dangerous.”

Claire’s throat was so tight she could barely speak. “Michael—”

“But I would never hurt you.”

“I know. I don’t doubt that.”

He was silent for a time. “I don’t want you to see what I look like.”

“I don’t care about a scar. I only care that it’s you. That is what matters.” She reached her hand out through the darkness. When it found his shoulder, he jumped. “I want to keep going. I want my mouth on you, just like you wanted your mouth on me.”