What Orrin had done and was doing to his body not only opened Joran’s eyes but inflamed every inch of him in new and unfathomable ways. Orrin was taking (possessively and masterfully) but with such a giving method it was impossible to hold anything back; the only option was to capitulate to his disarming skills.
Every part of Joran had been caressed, nibbled, licked and kneaded, leaving him breathless and intoxicated. He couldn’t grasp how Orrin’s tongue tasting the back of his knees had sent jolts of abandon and pleasure; how those pearly teeth biting his inner thigh could make his eyes roll back in his head; how the artful pressure of a thumb between ball-sac and hole could make him yearn to be destroyed in the most abject manner; how the annoyingly perfect bliss of Orrin mischievously blowing over his hole before lapping on it had been surprise and curse.
Sweet Apheilon, Blessed Erin, thank you for letting this young man know about pleasure so thoroughly, so deeply.
Now Joran had his back against a wall, Orrin handling Joran’s weight as if he were nothing but the idea of a grown man. The ecstasy of the brutal penetration sent his eager hole ablaze as Orrin slammed against it mercilessly, stealing kisses and biting Joran’s neck— his honeyed eyes bright and intent.
A war cry (something that should have started a ruthless battle) rose from Joran before his body shook, broken and free. He spurted with such force, jets and jets of sweet completion spattered their chests, leaving them drenched but never breaking Orrin’s intention.
Some drops landed on Joran’s lips. Orrin swept in, mastering Joran’s mouth, tasting his reward. Perhaps that was the trigger because he groaned (their mouths still attached) and lost his rhythm, the spasms of completion seizing him, flooding Joran, taking both to a blinding summit where climax could only be measured in the stutters of their screaming hearts.
Frozen in time, amid faltering heartbeats that seemed millennia, breath slowly returned. Orrin slowly lowered them, still connected, still hard, until Joran’s feet touched the floor— his body wedged between the wall and his lover, perfectly seated on Orrin’s lap, impaled, sated.
Orrin let his head fall onto Joran’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“Whatever for?”
“For letting me have you like this. For giving me a gift I wasn’t expecting.”
Joran moved Orrin’s head, taking his face with both hands, making the Prince of Zigag look into his eyes. “You’re the unexpected gift.”
“Why do you call me Golden Prince?”
“Because that’s what I saw when I met you this afternoon. The sun firing your hair, wrapping you in its golden light, perfect and mesmerizing,” Joran explained with a catch in his voice.
A soft smile emerged on that handsome face. Orrin’s eyes lowered, and Joran released his face. Honeyed eyes moved downward, perhaps studying the outcome of his efforts. Joran was sweaty and sticky and stupidly happy.
The searching eyes stopped on Joran’s cock. Orrin wrapped a hand around it, stroking it languidly. It hadn’t truly softened, and in no time it was fully erected again. “Would you make me yours, my Diamond King,” he whispered.
Orrin had melted, forged and reshaped Joran’s body in the last hours. If their minds could bond as their bodies had, this could be the greatest adventure for both.
“With heart and soul, my Golden Prince.”
The End
About the Author
Born a Sagittarius in the fabulous year of the Rooster of ’69, at the hour when his cat was about to become a complete dragon, Gabbo de la Parra landed on the Caribbean Coast of the outlandish Republic of Panama to start the adventure of Life.
Love and the Internet brought him to Middle Tennessee to embrace the American Dream and his husbandly romance. Writing has been an important part of his life since a very early age, and it’s a pleasure to share his stories with others thanks to the wonderful opportunities this land provides. He is the author of The Pompeiian Horse, Septima Luna, and other titles available through Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Smashwords.
Gabbo cherishes Life with a southern gentleman in a townhouse close to a manmade lake, crowded with the spirits of his characters, and their pets: black esoteric kitty, Luna; white emo-twink Maltese, Chance; and street smart Russian Blue, Bella.
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HOW I MADE THE SULTAN MINE
The cinnamon curly locks of my beloved Sultan swayed as he thrust inside me. His eyes, trained on me, flashed, reflecting the flames of the hundred perfumed lamps around his bed. I moaned with each snap, encouraging him to take his pleasure and guide me to my own climax because my Sultan was not selfish.
That was one of the many things making me love him and (in the same breath) making me hate the fact that I was a solitary hawk in a harem of harpies. He won me when I was someone else’s body slave and brought me here to Fawz. It wasn’t unusual for Sultans to have males in their harems; my Sultan simply hadn’t found any male interesting enough to want him there— until he found me.
Now, after a year of sharing him with the harpies, I was positive only a drastic action would take me out of the harem and into the throne room as his consort. With strong hands he pushed my arms upward and held them there as he rubbed his wonderful beard over my neck, never ceasing the relentless dance of his hips, carrying us further— so close to reaching the summit.
His beard caressed my cheek, and he whispered into my ear, “Are you ready?”
I was beyond ready and riding the swell of his wave, so I found my voice and exhaled, “Yes.”
His eyes found mine, and his rhythm became faster— the tempo rising until he roared his completion accompanied by one final brutal slam. He only gave me a heartbeat to relish the flooding sensation as he took my cock and pumped it, hissing, “Come for me, Abbo.”
And it was his grave voice, and his callused hand, and the way his curls blocked the world around us as his face neared mine that set me afire.
Rope after rope of cum escaped, leaving me empty and sated, and with him still possessively sheathed inside me.
My Sultan rolled us.
My body rested over his.
I did not want to break our connection, and his hard cock seemed to agree with me. I traced patterns over his beard, loving the way my fingers tickled as I moved them.
He chuckled and asked me, “What’s on your mind?”
I did not hesitate because this was the perfect moment to gain knowledge. “Do I have your heart, my Sultan?”
“You do,” he said softly and his hands started to roam over my back.
“How could I earn the right to be your consort then?” My eyes remained on his because I wanted him to know I was serious.
“Well...” He paused for several heartbeats, his eyes narrowing and a smirk flourishing on his sultry lips. “You’d need to accomplish something never done before. Something unique…”
“Does it have to be dangerous?”
“We’re not fighting any wars right now. I don’t know what feat could be dangerous.” His hands cupped my ass, then he kneaded it.
“Ruthless?” I asked, doing my best to keep my voice steady, not letting his ministrations make me moan or lose focus.
My Sultan nodded, his smirk becoming almost sinister. “That could help because it would show that you’re not afraid to take action if needed.” He pinched one of my buttocks. “I’d prove you’re a worthy companion.”
He was still hard inside me, and his playfulness indicated he wasn’t done yet. I shifted to straddle him more properly and slowly rolled my hips. “I guess I’ll need to think hard to find something worthy of the right.” I put emphasis on the word “hard” with a vicious squeeze of the hidden muscles wrapped around his cock.
“You do that,” he hissed, grabbing my hips to hasten my rotations.
So, I abandoned all plots for the moment and gyrated aw
ay.
****
Twenty-five pyres burned stubbornly.
My Sultan was sad, but also ready to seek vengeance. Someone has poisoned the food of the harem. I got barely sick, but the harpies dropped like flies. He seemed relieved that I survived, but now and then looked at me suspiciously.
I stood beside him, watching the procedures from the main balcony. The black smoke quickly darkened the sky, and no amount of sandalwood, vetiver, and rosewood could hide the unmistakable smell of burning flesh. And yet, out of respect, we breathed their departure stoically.
We wait until the last ember died. As the undertakers started to collect the ashes, my Sultan turned to me and fixed some loose strands of hair behind my ear. His eyes were watery, but no tear has marred his striking features. He kissed my lips. “The month of mourning will not be easy,” he said as we separated.
I agreed with a single nod. “It’ll feel like you lost all of us.”
“No. It’s going to be worse because I’ll know you’re just a corridor away and I cannot touch you.”
“Your words break my heart, my Sultan. I’ve been here for almost two years, and I was never far from your touch, not even if I couldn’t be in your bed every night.”
“Let’s be strong. We’ll welcome the next full moon together.”
“In each other’s arms,” I whispered before I took his hand and kissed the inside of his palm. I rested my cheek there for several heartbeats, then let go.
****
A month later, the full moon rose, but I was not in my Sultan’s arms. Nevertheless, I was naked on his bed, sat on my haunches before him. He was naked too, his legs sprawled, tempting me with his hardening cock in its nest of cinnamon curls.
The problem was, my Sultan had his arms crossed in a very defensive way and one of his eyebrows was arched. His eyes drilled into me. “I know you poisoned them. On my orders, the cook was tortured, and he didn’t do it.”
I only lowered my eyes wordlessly.
“To be honest, I am not mad because you killed them. I am mad because you were also sick, and I thought I was going to lose you too.”
I found his eyes, they were mere slits, but I didn’t see murder in them.
“So? I want to know what you did,” he growled.
“I made myself immune to the poison I used.” I couldn’t resist and let a little smile surface. “I took a small dose each day for six months.”
“You were technically poisoning yourself for six months!” He launched himself at me and shook me. “Are you crazy?”
“I’m not crazy. I am just determined.” I locked eyes with him. “While I was Zlo’s body slave I had to also try his every meal first to be sure there was no poison in it. I am immune to almost every poison known to mankind because I wanted him dead. He was a cruel beast. Sadly, all were so afraid of him nobody had the balls to try anything.”
“You’ve done this before?” He didn’t release me, but I realized he was seeing me with new eyes.
I hoped it was in a favorable light. “Yes, my Sultan. I have.”
“Then why the six months preparation?”
“None of the other poisons were strong enough to kill twenty-five people at the same time without smelling like a clogged sewer,” I explained. “I befriended the cook pretty quick after my arrival. He’s an avid collector of exotic recipes, and I know my fair share of those.” I shrugged slightly. “By the time I was immune enough, he never questioned my presence in his kitchen. I even helped him many times during banquets and receptions.”
“You sneaky asshole,” he said almost endearingly.
“He didn’t deserve to be tortured, my Sultan.”
“Well, that’s on your head now.”
I agreed, and if I didn’t get beheaded by killing the twenty-five harpies, I’d find I way to repair that mistake.
My Sultan pulled me to his chest and hugged me hard. “What am I going to do with you?”
I bit my tongue not wanting to push my apparent luck. His cock was hard and seriously leaking against my thigh.
That had to be a good sign, right?
He broke the embrace and grabbed my face with both hands. His eyes were wild as he stared at me.
I’d missed his touch so much, and his hair was longer, practically enveloping us in a cascade of cinnamon locks. His presence had driven me crazy since day one, and now after I had been away from him for a month I was ready to beg and cry for at least one final encounter if he was thinking about sending me to my death.
“Say something,” he commanded me.
“I didn’t kill the harem because the only way to become your consort was to do something never done before. I did it because I couldn’t stand to share you with them. My love is selfish, and I want to be the only one you love and care about.”
“What makes you think I am not going to rebuild the harem?”
“Because, if I am alive, you will be sending other twenty-five women to their death.” I chuckled. “I’m ruthless, remember?”
“You’re not going to let me have even one concubine?”
I shook my head.
He barked a laugh.
“I want you solely mine as I am yours,” I said resolutely. If I was going down, I was going down with my truth as banner.
The ensuing kiss was brutal, devastating in all the silently screamed things my Sultan poured into it. He devoured my lips and sucked on my tongue as if he wanted to drain the life out of me with his actions. He still had his hands on my face, and when we couldn’t hold our breaths for that kissing battle anymore, he called a truce, pushing me a hairbreadth away.
“You’re going to suck my cock for a while and then I am going to fuck you within an inch of your life because you are very naughty, future consort of mine,” he growled as he pushed my head downward.
And down I went.
Happily.
Other Books by Gabbo de la Parra
Please visit your favorite ebook retailer to discover my other books
Bridegroom from Heaven (Spaniards # 1)
The Stallion & the Dragon (Spaniards # 2)
Connection
Prince of Atlantis
Nashville Dreams
Immaterial
Darkest Before Dawn (The Masked Man Serenade)
How I Lost It On Planet X
Tarnished Toys
Nor Sub Nor Dom
The Road from Maryville
Wand-Losing & Other Things You Shouldn't Be Doing
Cenotaph
From Nova To X
Another Dawn On Planet X
Meridian
Nightjar
Schadenfreude
The Pompeiian Horse
Clockwork Vendetta
Golden Prince Diamond King Page 4