Collars 'N' Cuffs

by Wayward Ink

  Kahoni hurried to his side and cupped his face. “Tudor, please! Talk to me. Is it because of last night?” Kahoni looked down, but he didn’t stop caressing Tudor’s face. “Does it bother you that I like that stuff?”

  The worry in Kahoni’s voice was enough for Tudor to find his own. “God, no! I loved what we did last night.”

  “Yeah?” Kahoni looked up and gave Tudor an unsure smile.

  “We have to move in together,” Tudor blurted out, desperate to cast away any doubt Kahoni might have. “I had a speech, and all.” Tudor laughed, but there was no humor in it. “But, yeah, that’s the gist of it,” he added, shrugging and shifting uncomfortably from one leg to the other.

  “Okay,” Kahoni said, and got on his tiptoes to press his lips to Tudor’s.

  “Okay?”

  “Of course. Did you really expect me to say no?” Kahoni arched an eyebrow and stared into Tudor’s eyes, his face void of any other clue.

  “Well, I was hopeful,” Tudor admitted.

  Kahoni smiled and patted his cheek. “Good. It’s settled then.”

  Tudor nodded and returned Kahoni’s smile. “We only have to decide on where.”

  “Do you really believe Hawaii can lose this battle?”

  Tudor tilted his head and stared at Kahoni. For a second, he thought they might have their first huge fight. But before opening his mouth to say something stupid, memories of their times in Hawaii flooded him. Yeah, no way in hell Bucharest was going to win that battle. Tudor would choose the paradise he’d found in Hawaii over anything. The man in front of him was too precious to antagonize. And the beaches and ocean were pretty great too.

  Writer, traveler, and coffee addict, ALINA POPESCU has been in love with books all her life. She started writing when she was ten and she has always been drawn to sci-fi, fantasy, and the supernatural realm. Born and raised in Romania, she finds her inspiration in books of all genres, in movies, and the occasional manga comic book. She is a proud geek who needs her fast Internet and gadgets more than she needs air.

  ALINA POPESCU can be found at:

  Website: http://alina-popescu.com/

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  SAMUEL GLIDED ACROSS the sky, seemingly chasing the setting sun as it painted the horizon in blazing shades of orange and pink. Darkness followed at his feet, breaking the stars free of their daylight prison so that they might twinkle and fill the night with mysterious awe. Half the world prepared to sit down for dinner, maybe watch some TV, before falling into the blissful embrace of slumber. The other half greeted a new day filled with untold possibilities. Just one more of the never-ending cycles of humanity.

  The angel banked to the right, setting his sights on the sparkling waters of an oasis hidden deep in a sea of sand. As he drifted slowly down to the liquid glass surface, his presence startled a coyote standing along the banks, droplets glistening on its muzzle. The scavenger stole away into the growing night, and Samuel’s bare feet sank into the ocean of tiny grains still clinging to the warmth of the day. He strode with purpose toward the pond, earning a warning rattle from a snake coiled along an outcropping of rocks.

  A butterfly, soft shades of gold, danced hypnotically in front of him, close enough that tender wings brushed against his bare chest. The fragile creature made Samuel smile before it continued on its way; as did he, crossing the stretch of desert. Samuel crouched, running his fingers through the cool water, then cupping his hands and drinking heartily. It was more than refreshing, washing away the bitter taste that lingered in his mouth.

  The day had not gone right.

  There had been too much bloodshed, too much anger swirling through the masses, and he could no longer fight the urge to flee the company of his brothers. As always, he sought solace amongst the mortals, his heart drawing him to the state of Nevada, a yearning beckoning him to the City of Sin. But as he headed in that direction, he took a detour, coming to this little-known oasis, some hidden desire tugging at him.

  Samuel stood and gazed upon his reflection.

  For the most part he was unremarkable, his height somewhere north of six feet, hair short and brown, skin tanned, muscles toned from countless centuries of wielding a sword in the ongoing struggle of light versus darkness. There were hints, however—the telltale traits to those who could see beyond the mortal realm—that marked him for the angel he was: the way his eyes glowed faintly blue, burning with the very light of heaven, and the light that shone over his head, the wings that jutted from his shoulder blades.

  Only there were changes.

  His halo, as the humans dubbed it, had dimmed, and when he stretched his wings, he noted the taint to the once brilliant white feathers.

  It pained him and sparked inner turmoil that left his stomach firmly knotted.

  And yet….

  Samuel looked over his shoulder to the glittering light of Sin City. It called to him like a moth to the flame. Though he worried, fretted, that eventually he would be found out, he knew it was impossible to stay away. He’d crossed a line more times than he cared to admit, embarking down memory lane when the moment allowed, bringing forth the ghost touch of the man who possessed the ability to make him weak in the knees. And the internal war would begin as Samuel’s lingering fear of discovery told him to stay away, while the desire to feel the familiar heated flesh pressed against his caused an insatiable thirst for the sinful place.

  He scanned his surroundings, listening. The wind ruffled his feathers, caressed his skin, and brought to him a bevy of creature-created sounds. Nothing that suggested another angel might be lurking in the area. He licked his lips, his gaze straying back to the city in the distance. How easily, how quickly he could make it there and then….

  Samuel took to the air once again, this time making a beeline for the place he often longed to visit, far too much time passing between each trip. As he neared the bustling metropolis, he wondered, at least for a fleeting moment, what he might do if he should make the trip to Las Vegas one night only to find his beloved jewel missing. He preferred not to dwell.

  Things of a tantalizing nature awaited him.

  FEELING A PAIR of eyes on him, Flynn glanced coyly back over his shoulder to find the big bald burly bouncer staring in his direction. Darnel was the type of man with muscles on muscles, all of them straining to break free of the tight red shirt that was part of the club’s uniform. The word Cherry—the ‘Y’ made by the form of a woman on her back, legs up in the air and open wide—splayed across his shirt was the logo of the city’s premiere gentleman’s club, which set aside two nights a week for the ladies to enjoy some of the finer men floating through Vegas. Darnel was responsible for keeping the riff-raff out, though with green eyes, milk chocolate-hued skin, and no doubt a nice package concealed in black slacks, Darnel would make more money in one night of dancing than a week of being a bouncer.

  But Flynn failed time and time again to convince the man to get on stage.

  He’d eventually get what he wanted though. He always did.

  Flynn sauntered over to Darnel. Making the rounds of the club and an hour of dancing before all those thirsting eyes had fed him enough lust to last an entire week. But that primal urge contained in every human being was the very drug that kept Flynn’s demon fires burning. It was the greatest kind of drug, and topping off the tank never hurt.

  “You looked good up there tonight, boss,” Darnel said, his baritone a guaranteed pants-dropper.

  “Thank you, sugar,” Flynn said, exuding a little extra charm. A glazed look settled over Darnel’s eyes. Flynn gave him a peck on the cheek. “One of these days, big boy, you’ll be the main attraction.” He took a step back, released his hold on Darnel’s soul, and walked around him, giving him an affectionate pat on the butt. “Keep a good watch on my goods.”

  Flynn moved out into the night, the desert air refreshing on his heated skin. For a while he merely wandered down
the sidewalk with no real destination in mind, simply enjoying the ever present throng of bodies. Every one that passed—at least those with even the slightest taint to their souls—suddenly experienced a rush, and one woman in particular was left bracing against a brick wall as she found herself the surprise victim of a toe-curling orgasm.

  A smile tugged the corners of Flynn’s mouth.

  He paused at the entrance of an alley and gazed at two dark figures a short distance away, one down on their knees before the other. For a brief moment, he thought about joining them, feeding on their naughtiness, but an unexpected tickle pulled him in another direction. A tingle spread throughout his body as a new presence entered the city limits.

  “Oh,” he uttered, the beat of his heart quickening. “How wonderfully splendid.”

  With a snap of his fingers, Flynn left the streets behind.

  IT WAS THEIR love nest, for lack of a better term: the one place they always wound up exploring the pleasures offered by the flesh. Samuel ran fingers over the footboard of the bed where names were moaned, a flutter in his stomach as he recalled the touch of a tongue flicking over sensitive places. He bit his bottom lip, wanting very much to be touched in the ways only his lover knew how. As though conjuring his beloved with mere thought, the air in the room shifted and changed, and he sensed a burning presence at his back. A hand snaked around and groped him.

  “My yummy bird,” a smooth voice whispered, breath tickling his ear. A shiver passed over him as lips brushed against his neck. “How did you know I was hungry?”

  “You always are,” Samuel replied, his own words thick with arousal. “And I couldn’t stay away any longer.”

  “Mmm, is my dollop of ice cream looking to melt?”

  Skilled fingers worked like magic, stoking his inner fire. If only there was no fabric between them. “Are you just going to tease me?”

  “It’s my specialty,” Flynn pointed out, prompting Samuel to turn and face him. Their eyes met. Every time Samuel looked into Flynn’s dark blue gaze he felt like he was falling into the pits of the Underworld, flames singeing his wings, licking at his skin. It burned and he liked it. Flynn pulled him close with a suggestive gyration of the hips. “And I have something especially perfect picked out for you.”

  “Oh?”

  Those lush lips curled up, eyes sparkling. Their height matched, but Flynn’s features were understandably darker—from the burnished red of his lips to the thicket of black hair on his head that not only matched the five-o-clock shadow along his jawline but also the trail leading to a more pleasurable place. He was a demon through and through, right down to the pair of slightly curled horns on his head. And Samuel wanted every single inch of him in the most primal of ways.

  “I think you’ll like it. For starters….”

  Flynn leaned forward and their lips met in a heated kiss, a jolt of sheer want sweeping through Samuel. He rested one hand on the small of Flynn’s back and slipped the other beyond the waistband of the leather pants Flynn favored, always undone. Pressed up against Flynn, it was like being set on fire, and the burn was instantaneous—no smoldering, just instant flames. It took considerable resolve for him not to throw Flynn onto the bed and have at it. But he was curious about what his beloved had in mind, and if there was one thing he’d learned in his many trysts with Flynn, it was that the demon knew how perfectly to get a rise out of him.

  A deliciously hard rise.

  Kind of like the one he was currently getting out of Flynn.

  A firm hand, pressed against his chest, pushed Samuel back a fraction. Enough to break their lip-lock and allow reality to wash in.

  “Shall we?” Flynn inquired, an eyebrow arched.

  “Torture me.”

  “With sheer pleasure.”

  Flynn kept a hand on Samuel’s chest, artfully directing him backward until something connected with the back of his legs. Samuel sat heavily in a chair, nearly toppling it over. As he wondered where things were headed, Flynn produced a pair of silken ties with the snap of a finger. The sight of them caused a flutter in Samuel’s stomach. Things always got a little kinky between them, and it turned out to be his favorite way to play. Flynn took to humming a catchy tune while busily binding Samuel’s wrists to the chair.

  When finished, he placed his hands on Samuel’s shoulders, whispering, “No touching for you.”

  Another snap of his fingers. Music filled the room, male voices singing about wanting to sex someone up. The lights dimmed, changing color until everything was slashed in a faint shade of pink. And that was when Flynn started to dance, gyrating to the beat of the music, swaying with practiced ease. Every move, no matter how simple, came across as erotic, sexy. He danced around Samuel, just out of reach. The only time they made contact was when he ran a hand across Samuel’s chest.

  The music changed.

  Flynn stood before him, his back to Samuel. Swaying slightly, Flynn leaned forward, the leather tightening over the perfect curve of his ass. He twirled, touching himself, running his hands over his chest and down along his hips. For a moment it looked like he was going to slip off his pants, but Samuel was denied the glory of seeing him in the buff. He danced closer, nearly sitting in Samuel’s lap as he moved his hips in a figure eight.

  A groan bubbled up out of Samuel.

  He was hard, his erection straining against the fabric of his pants. He wanted to touch, to taste, to expose every inch of Flynn. But the cool fabric of the ties kept him from indulging. Though he could easily break his bonds, it would have ruined the whole affair, and the absolute last thing he wanted to do was spoil Flynn’s fun, considering he knew where it would eventually lead. He bit down on his bottom lip as Flynn’s ass rubbed against the bulge in his pants. Once. Twice. It was blissfully maddening. And then Flynn spun around to face him, straddling him, one hand on his chest. Flynn continued to move to the beat of the music, their eyes locking as he ground against Samuel.

  Samuel growled, attempting to nip at Flynn.

  Flynn put a finger to Samuel’s lips. “Oh, someone’s being naughty.”

  He needed to be touched, to have those hands or those lips wrapped around his erection. “Touch me. Please.” A pleading note in his words. The ache was growing unbearable and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out. “Flynn….”

  A SHIVER TRICKLED down his spine with the way Samuel said his name. He could feed for hours on the lust of humans, but they never filled him with such euphoria. They never set every fiber of his being on fire with a simple touch. He loved it: the intense reactions Samuel provoked in him. If only his lovely angel could stop by more frequently for such wonderful playtimes. If lust was his drug of choice, then Samuel was his ultimate high, because it went beyond that, crossing the line into love.

  He loved an angel.

  And the worldview of how wrong that was only made it more exciting.

  More delightfully sinful.

  By now Samuel was whimpering, his eyes blazing, and Flynn considered setting him free, curious to see what would happen next. But there was still more teasing to be unleashed first.

  He started with a kiss; one of those I want to rip your clothes and have my way with you kind of kisses. Every time their lips met it was the clashing of two elements, Samuel stealing his breath away with a coolness he could only liken to sucking on a whole tin of mints, though the effect never quite measured up. From there, he licked Samuel’s chest, flicking his tongue over stiff nipples. By now he was eliciting all sorts of wonderfully erotic sounds from his partner. Flynn kept going, moving his hips as he worked his way down and off Samuel’s lap.

  With practiced ease, he freed Samuel’s erection from the confines of the pesky fabric. His lips brushed the tip, his tongue darting out for a quick taste. He felt Samuel shudder. He tightened his hold just a little, moving his hand down, following it with his mouth, swirling his tongue along the underside of Samuel’s erection. All the way in. It was a surprise to him that Samuel hadn’t exploded yet, s
o he worked at timing his movements to the music, using his hands, lips, and tongue to coax Samuel into a powerful orgasm.

  There was a rush. Samuel groaned his name. And Flynn swallowed every drop.

  “Mmm, candy from my favorite piñata,” he cooed, licking his lips. “Are you satisfied, my little birdie?”

  “No.”

  Flynn’s eyebrows shot up. Had he lost his touch? He could have sworn from the way Samuel withered and moaned that he’d done his job quite adequately, if not superiorly. How could there possibly be a lack of satisfaction? “Come again?”

  A wicked grin appeared on Samuel’s lips. “Oh, I will, trust me.”

  Before Flynn had time to process those words—and once he did he positively tingled—Samuel broke free of the silken tie bindings and stood, pulling Flynn to his feet at the same time. Flynn was intrigued, excited, always thrilled when Samuel switched things up and took on the role of dominant. He very much enjoyed being the angel’s plaything. As an added bonus, he’d acquired a collar and a leash, the end of which Samuel was holding.

  In a flash, Samuel had them on the bed, positioning himself over Flynn.

  Somewhere along the way Flynn had lost the meager amount of clothing he’d been wearing. He shivered, not so much because Samuel’s touch was cool but because of where he was touching. His hold was strong, confident in his ability to get the job done. And Flynn knew from past trysts that he would. Their eyes met, held, while Samuel moved his hand rhythmically, his hips following the motion.

  Flynn played with the leather leash, running it up and down Samuel’s chest. Then he casually looped it around Samuel’s neck, tugging his beloved down for a tongue-dancing kiss. His erection, trapped between them, was receiving top-quality teasing and he knew it was only a matter of time before ecstasy shot through him. A touch of misgiving seeped in. The fun would be over and he’d be left alone, feeding on the desires of humans while pining for his winged lover. It hurt every time Samuel went away. It filled him with a sense of longing and the fear their paths might not cross again.