NSFW: an explicit excerpt from The God of Jazz
Ángel leaned in and I caught my breath, expecting a kiss. Needing his kiss. A little thrill shot through me as the scruff darkening his jaw brushed against my cheek; in its wake, his warm breath breezing over my skin.
“Are you always such a good, obedient boy?”
A hot flush of anger flared up my neck, singing my cheeks, but it erupted in a fresh surge of want as his mouth spread open in an electric smile that lit up those eyes and made him look like a fucking god who could read my mind.
“Are you always so bossy?” I delivered my line without a hint of humor. Testing.
“Quiet.” He silenced my retort, wrapping a hand around my throat and taking me in a kiss that went deep into my mouth, down to my god damned balls, turning my skeleton to rubber and burning away all the oxygen in my lungs.
When he broke off the kiss and gazed into me, I had the unsettling sensation he was feeding on me—on my arousal, on the unfamiliar uncertainty of being so suddenly and utterly under his power, as if my weakness fed his strength.
“Mmmmm,” he purred. “Your want makes you even more beautiful. Do you know that?”
It was that moment I realized he still had both of my wrists caught in one hand, the other still wrapped around my throat. Not constricting my breath, but threatening the possibility. A bolt of panic impaled my arousal. He was only three, maybe four inches taller than me, but he had at least fifty pounds of lean, hard muscle on me. When I tried to pull my wrists free, his grip cinched down with sudden, startling power.
“You're afraid?”
“Should I be?”
This time when he smiled, it wasn't arousal that shot through me like a jolt of current. It was confusion. How could I feel so apprehensive and so fucking turned on at the same time?
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On what you're afraid of.”
I focused, and with all the strength I could muster, tried to jerk my wrists free of his grip. Without any apparent effort, he held me fast. My heart was pounding hard, racing.
“Do you want me to let go?”
“Yes.”
When he released my wrists, I pressed my hands to his chest. It was instinct. My lower brain driving my body to push him away, or at least hold him at bay. At that contact, another rush of current surged from my fingertips, down my spine at the sensation of his hard muscles under my hands. I had no clue if that hot, electric arc was fear or excitement.
With a wry grin he turned away and went to the far end of the living room. He sank into the lone armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window that ran the width of the west-facing wall of my apartment. Gazing up at me from under his impish eyebrows, he beckoned me to him with a curl of his index finger.
I don't think I'd ever felt so naked in my whole life, standing there with my dick hard as an iron rod, and him watching me from that chair, still wearing his white slacks and pale blue, short sleeved button-up. But if he wanted a show, I'd damn well give him one. I cocked an eyebrow, then strutted toward him, taking my time. Soaking up his hungry look as his eyes roamed over my body. When I got to him, when I was standing there between his splayed thighs, I knew if he leaned forward and slid that beautiful mouth of his down the length of my cock, I wouldn't last thirty seconds.
Instead, he took my left hand in his, put his other hand to the back of my right knee, and coaxed me onto the chair, straddling his thighs. “Mmmm. Beautiful boy.”
Boy? I almost laughed. If I was younger than him, it couldn't be by more than a couple years.
“Beautiful boy,” he sighed again. “With a beautiful cock.” He put both hands to my chest, ran his hands over me like a curator appraising a famous sculpture. “Estás temblando, guapo.”
“What?”
He laughed. “I said, you're trembling. You really know no Spanish?”
“Did you come for the witty banter?”
Now he laughed. “Are you still afraid?”
“Terrified.”
His grin didn't fade, but a vague glimmer of doubt flickered over his gold-flecked amber irises. “Of what?”
“That you're too busy teasing me to ever put that gorgeous mouth on my cock.”
“Mmmmmm.” The low purr rumbling from his chest was the most erotic sound I'd ever heard. “Pobrecito. So hard.” He wrapped a hand around the base of my aching dick. A violent shudder rippled through me.
In seconds he had me quivering and gasping, panting and writhing, flexing my hips, desperately trying to drive my pulsing hardness into his grip, hunting the friction I needed to relieve my desperate, painful need. “Fuck.” I whimpered as he withdrew his touch just as I was sure I was about to breach the barrier to my release.
“Pobrecito. You really need to, don't you?” Cradling and rolling my balls in one hand, torturing my dick with the other, he honed in on my neck. My arms, my whole torso erupted in goosebumps as electric pleasure arced under the touch of his tongue, then his teeth. When he sealed his lips against my skin, tonguing and sucking, I arched and gasped. He cinched his grip tight at the base of my cock, clamping down on my pending climax.
I grunted. “You're a damned sadist.”
He laughed. “Sadism? You would like me to show you what I know about sadism?”
“What I want is to bury my dick in your throat and feel it squeeze me as I empty my balls.”
He tutted. “Greedy, impatient boy.”
“You keep calling me boy. How old do you think I am?”
“I don't care how old you are. You look and feel like a boy who thinks he's seen everything, tasted and touched all the delicious things of this world, because he can't imagine anything could exist beyond the frontier of his enormous ego.”
Stunned, I went still, trying to come up with a reply to his unsolicited therapy session. Five seconds later, though, I forgot all about putting him in his place as he wet the tip of his index finger in the rivulet of pre-cum sliding down my cock, puddling in the trimmed thatch of my pubes, and slid the digit into my hole. I gasped and grunted, clinging to him, burying my face in his neck, rigid, writhing, racked with pleasure, stretched to the breaking point.
“Are you going to give in so easily?” Taking utter possession of my cock, my balls, and my asshole in sanity-shattering synchronicity, he caught my bottom lip between his teeth, licked, sucked, then we merged in a ravenous kiss as he tapped and prodded my prostate and I erupted in a blinding orgasm.
When I came back to myself, still quivering, still catching my breath, Ángel was watching me, his expression rapt, his eyes honed in on mine. When I realized his finger was still inside me, my sudden sense of utter vulnerability blossomed at the center of my chest like a rare flower, beautiful and possibly poisonous.
