A.O.E.M.: Taboo
Stephanie Burke
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Copyright ©2005 Stephanie Burke
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ISBN: 1-59596-172-0
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Editor: Katriena Knights
Cover Artist: Karen Fox
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Chapter One
“I am so sorry, babe.” Talcor sighed regretfully as he stared deeply into his would-be lover’s golden eyes. “Maybe the timing just isn’t right.”
He lifted the richly colored silk sheets that lay loosely bunched around his lower body and peered at the unresponsive cock lying limply against his left thigh. It looked almost as tired as he felt, the purple head looking as if it wished to hide.
And today was to have been the day!
He’d had the perfect day planned, with the help of his chaperone, of course, and it would have culminated with the act that would have shown his mate-to-be without a doubt how much he loved and cherished their upcoming bonding.
Would have being the operative words, of course, but still, it had been a damned near perfect day.
He and his mate-to-be started out with a romantic walk along the lake that bordered both of their parents’ properties, joining the land in the same way they hoped both their powerful and influential families would be bound. The sun had been shining, the breeze warm and gentle, the look in his soon-to-be lover’s eyes eager and anxious.
And of course those eyes would be filled with hunger and need. They had been betrothed since infancy. When puberty hit, along with the explosion of sexual hormones in his body and the growth of his wings that signaled sexual maturity, he had fantasized about the act, and seeing the light of love and complete and total satisfaction shining from his mate’s face.
Creators, he fantasized about the sounds that would pour from those precious, full lips, the gasps and moans, the way that sleek form would twist under his, the way they both would take flight as their wings hefted them into midair as the burn to come became unbearable…
But for some reason he always had been -- hesitant was as good a word as any -- to shake off his chaperone for a little afternoon slap and tickle with his would-be-lover.
It was disrespectful, he told himself, no matter how his hormones had raged at him and his wings’ fluttering told the story of sexual frustration so great he thought his balls would explode. He had wanted to show his mate’s worth by showing the utmost respect and prove he was worthy of the match by not doing anything to put a black mark on his mate-to-be’s name or reputation.
But had anyone besides him appreciated the fact he was denying himself out of respect and honor for the traditions of old?
NO!
Both their families had done everything in their collective powers to get them to break the no-sex ban, shy of stripping them both naked, covering them in aphrodisiac gel, and locking them both in the same room with a mirror, a comfortable bed, and a gallon of restorative drink.
They all, including his own parental quad, seemed to be upset that he was not trying to actively seduce the leggings off of his chosen!
And both their families’ motives became even more clear when the agreed upon chaperone began disappearing during the couple’s frequent dates and midnight strolls.
Every time he ventured forth, romance on his mind and love in his heart, his chaperone would almost magically disappear, only to suddenly pop up from behind a tree or a bush, the expectant look on his face turning into a deep frown when Talcor was not caught with his hands down his chosen’s leggings, humping at those beautiful legs and rounded ass like a canine in heat.
“No passion marks, bruises, or fingerprints today?” Mave, their chaperone, would grumble, much to Talcor’s embarrassment.
Then the man would sadly shake his head when all proved to be as it appeared, prim, proper, and above all, respectful.
And after he returned to his homestead, there were the disappointed looks and upset murmurs when it was reported that his chosen had remained disgustingly un-debauched.
“No finger marks, suck marks, teeth tracks, or spilled semen,” Mave would report to both sides, and then the weeping and wailing would start, followed by those helpful pamphlets that would mysteriously appear in his sleeping chamber.
He kept an annotated file of them. Thus far, his favorites were, “How to Debauch a Virgin in Ten Easy Steps,” “You Don’t Have to Be Afraid to Get Your Cock Wet,” “Dip into Desire: A Practical Guide for the Shy Virgin,” “Fucking is Fun and Easy,” “Tossing Salads and Other Practical Uses for the Tongue,” and “Ten Fun Things to Do With Your Cock.”
But now, finally, after all those years of doing the right thing, of being proper and respectful, of being a gentle-Fae, he decided to reward his own patience by screwing the living daylights out of his mate-to-be.
Only it hadn’t gone exactly the way he’d planned it.
He had fantasized about this for so many years, planned each moment from their surprise escape from Mave to the romantic walk along the beach, to the messy, finger-sucking meal he’d specially ordered to be served in this very suite.
And what a suite it turned out to be.
The orgy-sized bed was second only to the orgy-sized tub! The fireplace was unnecessary in the warm climate of their island, but it was a romantic, soothing addition nevertheless. The warm colors that filled the room were designed to give a feeling of comfort, the candles placed to deliver a sensual atmosphere and soothe worried virgins. All in all it was a perfect place for a seduction, the perfect place to plow a trail so deep in his mate that the mere mention of his name would send lust, hunger, and desire flowering and blooming, making the longing for his touch all the sweeter.
Only now… dammit… his garden stake refused to rise to the occasion! So now he was trying to reason with a limp pecker, and his chosen had a speculative look in those amber-kissed golden eyes.
“Talcor,” his mate-to-be purred, the velvety, honey voice sending shivers down his spine, but no telltale signals to his balls and cock. “Love? Have you ever thought that you… um… might be kind of… well… What’s the right word I’m searching for here? Straight?”
Chapter Two
Talcor stared at Fal in shock, his mouth dropping open as if he couldn’t believe what his ears were telling his brain. “Str-straight? My gods, man! Are you daft?”
Tal dropped the sheet to cover his disobedient genitalia and glared at his future partner.
“Look at this from my point of view,” Falon the Golden explained. He tossed his portion of the silken sheets aside and rose to his feet, giving a body that would be considered spectacular by any imagination a quick rub with delicate hands. His ebon tattoos glistened around his waist as his fingers danced over them. They had been painfully embedded into his flesh when he had reached his sexual maturity. The black marks contrasted wildly with his golden skin, their elegant design of swirls and whorls proclaiming him a child of a first family, declaring his heritage for
all to see if anyone felt the need, and many dared.
The matching tattooed cuffs around his ankles told all that he was a first son, and the deep tribal marking around his biceps, so at odds with the delicate swirls that encircled his hips, told all that he was the intended of the House of Tarok, the house of Aggression. The design would be completed in the actual mating ritual itself, but the permanent markings told the word he belonged to the First House of Destruction and War.
“We have been at this for hours,” Fal sighed, running his hands through his fall of gold-toned hair, his expressive eyes filling with compassion as he quietly regarded his mate. “And still there is no bang-bang.” He didn’t sound angry, just resigned. “There is nothing wrong with being straight, lover mine. But there is something going on here, and I know that it’s not me.” He grinned down at the dark body of his mate-to-be. “I walk by and Fae dicks get hard enough to break diamonds.”
And Falon wasn’t exaggerating. He was one of the most highly sought after males on the hidden isle of Tabrizia. With his long, multi-shaded golden hair and amber skin, he was a complete contrast and complement to Talcor’s onyx skin and ebony cornrows that hung below his waist.
They were a striking couple, Fal in his golden glory and Talcor with his black on black hues and their matching markings, because as sure as Fal was marked with Talcor’s markings, Tal was equally blessed.
His markings were a bright gold, the color of his intended, and were a delicate swirl that showed he was promised to one of the House of Intellect. His waist markings, his family lineage, corresponded to the thick tribal markings that swirled around Fal’s arms. The delicate swirls from the House of Intellect were at odds with the fiery temperament of Talcor, First Son of the House of Aggression, but in some strange way they added a touch of delicacy to his form and increased his overall attractiveness.
Together, the two men had caused more than one jack-off session and were the cause of a few males getting an extra good night with their mates. There was definitely nothing wrong with his mate-to-be.
But if there was nothing wrong with him that meant that there was… no way!
By the time Tal brought himself out of his little journey into self-discovery, Falon was busily sliding his black drawstring pants over the delectable ass that Talcor loved to palm. Tal couldn’t hold in a sigh of longing as he watched those beloved muscles flex and bunch under that petal-soft skin. His sheer grace was like poetry in motion, the way those long limbs shifted as he settled his pants around his hips and pulled the drawstring tight. He moved like a great cat, Tal decided as he watched those rounded shoulders rise and fall, his crop top settling over his chest and…
Dammit! He was dressed! And he was moving toward the front door!
“Falon!” Tal cried out, frustration ruling him. “Wait!”
Then, cursing under his breath as his precious one continued through the suite, he stumbled from his bed and scrambled after his man-to-be.
“Dammit!!” he hissed again as his legs tangled in the brightly colored silk sheets and he went tumbling to the carpeted floor, looking rather like an oversized butterfly having a fit.
“Fucking sheet!” he hissed. He floundered for a moment, finally managing to gain his feet. “Falon! Wait!”
He ran two steps in the direction of the golden one before he realized the thing slapping against his bare thigh was his uncooperative cock.
Hissing, sweating, and calling himself no less than seven sons-of-a-human, he ripped the sheet from the floor, wrapped it around his waist, and gave chase.
He reached the entryway just in time to see the door quietly shut. Unfortunately, he couldn’t halt his all out race toward the door. He cursed loudly as he slammed face first into it.
“Oww,” he hissed, rubbing his nose with one hand as the other ran along the wood, reaching for the handle. Still wrinkling up his nose, he wrenched the door open and bolted straight into the hall.
“Falon!” he bellowed, disregarding everything else in his headlong flight to catch his mate as he watched that golden back walk out of his life. “I’m not straight!”
His voice, so filled with anguish, caused Falon to pause and turn to look at his promised. The pain, the hurt in that face moved his heart, but he loved Talcor enough not to hold him to this farce of a mating.
“I’m not a freak! I am gay!” The sheet dropped and he made a desperate grab to pull it back around his waist, but not before there were a few interested murmurs from the audience.
There were at least three couples in the hall, all female, and all now paying attention to the tableau now unfolding before their eyes.
“Falon?” He stretched his arms out in supplication. “Upon my honor, Falon, I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love another being. You are a part of me!” He raised his arm, pointing to the markings Fal himself had etched onto his skin. “You complete me. Without you, I am nothing!”
Tal had no idea how long he stood there, staring into the golden eyes of the only man he would ever love, watching those swirling, golden orbs stare back, their depths so filled with conflicting emotions.
The three couples sadly took in the standoff, but made no effort to assist. They had their own problems, and the issues between these two burly males were none of their affair, save a momentary distraction from their lives.
But Tal, so absorbed in trying to force his precious one to come by the strength of his gaze alone, failed to notice the haphazard knot holding his sheet in place slip.
There was a distracting breeze blowing against his lax cock and balls when one of the females, an attractive sprite from the look of her silver hair and antennae, called out to him, “Not that the view isn’t enjoyable, but your sheet is slipping.”
In that instant, Tal turned to face her, to see the beauty of her lightly illuminated face, the mysterious bumps that made up her body hidden by only a few strips of cloth… and his oh-so-uninterested cock began to stir.
He looked down and watched, horrified, as his erection began to rise, the dark shaft of his cock filling with blood, his balls tingling as they drew up in interest.
“Where the hell were you ten tic-tocks ago?” he growled at his dick before looking up to see if his mate-to-be had noticed.
He caught the back end of his mate disappearing into the elevator.
Ignoring his naked state, the amusement of the females, and the cock that rose proudly to rest against his stomach, the plum-colored head mocking him, he raced to stop Fal from leaving.
“Fal…”
“Shh.” One golden finger pressed against his lips and halted any speech or explanations he could have made. “It’s okay, Talcor, First Son of the House of Aggression. I love you more than words can say, and I have no doubt that you love me. But maybe you need time to discover who you are and what you want, love. Being straight may not be so bad.” He shuddered, a grimace crossing his golden face as he tried to imagine doing things sexual with a, ugh, female.
“But I am not straight! Falon, it is you I have pined for all these years, you who have filled my dreams and made my fantasies take flight.”
“Then maybe I am not enough, love,” Fal sighed, stepping back and pressing the button to the lower levels. “Maybe this isn’t meant to be, or maybe you need to experience the world. But remember, I love you, Talcor.” He pressed his hands against his heart, his golden eyes sparkling as he forced a smile for his mate’s benefit. “This beats for you, love. Only for you. And I love you enough to know that I may have to let you go. Before you can be true to me, Talcor, warrior, poet and gentle-Fae, you have to be true to yourself.”
Desperation vying with the tears in his eyes, Tal whispered his mate’s name. “Falon…”
But with one last, sad smile, Fal let the doors close, separating him from the one man he’d ever loved.
“Fal,” Tal breathed, his forehead dropping against the cold metal thing that was spiriting his heart away.
A hand on his shoulder
made him turn to see the same Urban Sprite holding the jewel-toned sheet out to him. “I’m… will you be okay?”
Was that real concern he saw in her eyes? Yes, it was, he decided. And the fact it was there made him hate her, made him hate himself, made him hate everything, the world, his life, this fucking island… Everyone and everything except for his Falon.
“I’ll be fine,” he managed, taking the sheet and turning away. Uncaring of his nakedness or his wilting cock, dragging the sheet behind him, he made for their rooms.
Once inside the barrier of wood and steel, he pressed his forehead against the door, the weight on his shoulders bearing so heavily on his soul that it nearly physically broke his back.
“What is wrong with me?” he whispered, then turned so that his back and the burden he bore were supported by ungiving, unpitying, uncaring wood.
He felt his sinuses burn, his face flush and his eyes throb as he slid down the door to sit on the floor, unable to hold up under the weight of his burden, this curse of straightness any longer. These clues had to be false! It could not be true! His reasoning was wrong, everyone was wrong, everything was wrong!
He was not straight!
He was not!
He couldn’t be!
Creators, Deliverers, gods, please don’t let it be true!
He was not straight!
Chapter Three
“What the hell do you mean, I’m not the right person for this job?”
Knight’s voice, loud and angry, seemed to echo around the office, right through the soundproofed doors, and into the cubed maze known as the cubicle jungle.
Underlings, the movers and shakers, and the up and coming alike all paused for a second before frenzied action once again filled the sixth floor of Schuster and Bitters Investments.
“Calm down, Knight,” the suddenly nervous senior partner soothed, beads of sweat forming on his bald scalp. “There is no need for histrionics.”
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