“You don’t trust your roommates?”
Isaac shrugged. “My roommates are fine. It’s the tricks they bring home that I don’t trust.”
Tank wondered if Isaac tried to counsel someone once, trusted some werewolf shifter too much, or dated one in the past who abused him. “I would never push anything on you, Isaac, that you didn’t want.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that’s entirely true. I suspect what you want from me goes beyond this moment and that is scary. But right now, I don’t care, for some reason. I just want it to be this – us – together. I want to do…” He swallowed.
Tank looked away, shy now that they were here. In Isaac’s room. They stood awkwardly apart, leaning inadvertently toward one another, breathing almost in sync.
The scent of human was still around him but it was even fainter here, and beneath it – nothing. Nothing endemic to Isaac, nothing that told Tank anything more about the man. Nothing that spoke to his existence.
Here, truly, was a man without a scent.
It was a strange kind of blindness. Tank could smell only Isaac’s arousal, salt sweet and musky sharp. Which caused his own cock, already iron hard, to twitch with need. Because it meant that Isaac must be dripping with want. But it was a generic scent, nothing unique to the tang, odd but more importantly right now, flattering.
He wants me. Me – dumb, and blundering, and needy.
“What do you want from me, Isaac?” Tank liked perimeters in place, so he knew exactly what to do and what not to do.
“Fuck.” Isaac shuddered and closed his eyes. “I want to take and take and take and see how much you’ll give me.”
“Everything,” said Tank, without hesitation. The skin of his face prickled.
Isaac was on him then, his hands rough with want, ridding Tank of his clothing, sure and confident even as they trembled. Tank froze under his touch, holding his breath, afraid it might stop.
“I’m not going to remind you to breathe,” remonstrated Isaac, with a sweet shake of his head. “I don’t mind ordering you about, but that’s taking it too far.”
Tank nodded and gasped. He tried to regulate his breathing, so it would not distract Isaac again.
“Good.” He was petted and praised for his efforts. “Be still for me now.”
Tank was still. Still as he could be under those caressing hands. Hands that teased and weighed and stroked every part of him as it was revealed.
Isaac was efficient about stripping him, in a way that spoke of more experience than Tank wanted to think about. Tank, being a werewolf, wasn’t wearing much clothing. He didn’t get all that cold and he sneered at underwear. It behooved a man who shifted forms to have as few barriers as possible to his other self.
Isaac didn’t seem to mind Tank’s big, lumbering body. Tank always thought, at this juncture, that there was too much of him. It was overwhelming to some lovers, all muscle and hair, big balls and big cock. As if he’d been rough-hewn by some thoughtless sculptor out of mud rock but never refined. Abandoned incomplete. Here, in his naked human state, he was basic and unfinished, to be used and discarded. Well, the used part is always welcome.
Yet Isaac seemed to love Tank’s body. The man’s touch was appreciative and somewhat rough – which made Tank melt.
Tank was always gentle with others, mindful of his size, but he loved rough handling himself. Loved the idea that a lover might be overcome with passion, might need everything that Tank could possibly give. Might take it, whether Tank willed it or not. Delicious.
Isaac’s gray eyes glittered silver and his hands were everywhere. Smoothing over Tank, almost reverent. They paused to pluck at Tank’s nipples.
He gasped. Jerked a little, despite the order to be still. He leaked enough so he could smell himself now too.
“You like that.”
Tank nodded. “They’re sensitive.”
Isaac did it again, scraped a nail through Tank’s chest hair to the other nipple and across it.
Tank swallowed hard and clenched his fists, tensing his muscles not to react. He’d been told to stay still. It was sweet agony and so exactly right. He knew his place. He knew what was required of him. He was precisely where he was supposed to be.
“You’re so responsive,” whispered Isaac.
Tank glowed with it. Praise and forgiveness unasked. Such a gift from this beautiful man.
Isaac was breathing faster. His licked his lips. They were puffy and soft and glistening. Tank wanted to be kissed. But he also wanted the touches to continue. And he also wanted his own needs to be unimportant.
Isaac was still fully dressed. He’d discarded his jacket but was otherwise clothed. Tank whimpered at the discrepancy, the powerful difference between his own naked flesh and Isaac fully covered. Isaac’s tight jeans strained over an impressive bulge.
Tank’s eyes were riveted on the zipper, desperate to taste or to smell more.
Isaac followed his gaze and laughed low and delighted. “Of course, you’d be like this. Fucking A, of course you would. So goddamn perfect.”
Tank didn’t really hear him. There was a roaring buzz about his head. None of Isaac’s words were an order or a suggestion or an instruction. Last he remembered, Tank had been told to be still – so he was still except for his gaze.
When he raised his eyes back to Isaac’s glittering, intense stare, he knew his own were pleading.
“Kneel for me,” ordered Isaac.
Oh, thank god. Tank folded to his knees with a clumsy jerk and a loud thump. He’d never be a graceful man, he wasn’t even a very graceful wolf. But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, he had purpose.
Isaac was taller than most of Tank’s previous lovers, but still Tank was a monster, so he must lean forward and down to nuzzle at the other man’s fly. He inhaled.
Finally, Isaac had a smell. Not his own, nothing to mark him unique, but there was that overwhelming scent of arousal, the sharp acrid perfume of desire.
Tank simply knelt there, quivering, face pressed against Isaac’s cock, absorbing him. Yearning for him.
“You want to get lost in me.” Isaac’s voice was full of wonder. “Go on, then.”
Tentative and hesitant, because he hadn’t been instructed explicitly, but he needed so badly, Tank reached to undo the zipper of Isaac’s jeans. Isaac didn’t stop him, just rested his hands lightly on Tank’s head. Blessings upon the man, he wore no underwear, as if he too were a werewolf.
Tank reached, caressed, stroked – Isaac groaning over him – and pulled out the man’s cock at last.
Isaac’s dick was truly beautiful, uncut, a rarity in humans. It was darker than the rest of him, flushed almost purple. He was already so hard the foreskin was pulled back, the head glistening. Without even thinking about it, Tank bent to take him into his mouth.
Isaac stopped him with a hard grip to his hair and pulled a condom out of his back pocket.
Tank was a little disappointed he wouldn’t get to taste, but humans could get this way about safety, and he liked that Isaac was protective. As a werewolf, he couldn’t catch anything and he couldn’t give anything, but Isaac didn’t know that. And Isaac was in charge.
He watched, reverent, as Isaac sheathed himself and then, thank god, pressed into Tank’s waiting mouth.
Isaac let out his breath in a rush as Tank swallowed him down. It was as if someone had pressed all the air out of his chest. Isaac was hot and hard and invasive, in a way Tank knew could become addictive.
Tank sucked him down easily, all the way to the root. Isaac muffled a shout of surprise. Tank held that perfect ridged cock in his mouth, the head down his throat, and swallowed around it. Isaac mumbled unintelligibly in dazed shock. Tank doubted there were many who could deep throat Isaac fully on the first try. But Tank was made to give everything to a lover, and that included his gag reflex.
Tank pulled off and then sucked Isaac down and swallowed again. And again. Slow and t
rance-like. Bathing in the feel of it. Isaac let him. Encouraged him. Enjoyed him.
He, Tank, was giving this beautiful, lonely, frightened man pleasure.
He glanced up, nose pressed against tightly curled pubic hair. Isaac’s eyes were fixed on him. They were now more greedy than wounded. Tank was thrilled by the change he’d wrought.
“Let me,” Isaac commanded.
Tank stopped moving. Isaac gripped his head and fucked his mouth, slow and steady and exactly right.
Used. Useful.
Tank’s world went slack and formless. His whole being became one throbbing pulse beat. He melted into it, lost the worst of himself along with his doubts. His sense of self was gone. The best of him, the strength of him, was still present, still here in this shape, human and waiting. Care and obedience were all that were required now (and that’s what he was best at).
Isaac’s cock pillaged the depths of his mouth. Tank’s tongue became the lone bastion of resistance – stroking and soothing and placating even as Tank screamed silently more and faster. Isaac was impossibly hard. Tank thought the man might be close to coming. He didn’t want this to end so soon, but that didn’t matter. The end wasn’t the point. All he cared about was soaring through now.
“You would let me, wouldn’t you?” Isaac’s voice was loose and choppy. “Of course you would.” He took a deep, stuttering breath. “You would let me take everything from you and leave you aching and wanting and empty.” The gray eyes looked away from Tank’s and further down, where Tank’s own cock was stupid hard.
Under Isaac’s hungry gaze, Tank’s cock jumped and leaked. He’d forgotten about it. It wasn’t important. Isaac was important. Isaac inside him. Isaac demanding. Isaac made powerful by desire, conquering and taking and pressing in with sweet force. Intoxicating to Tank’s mouth, his eyes, his nose – every part of Tank was lost to this man. For this man.
“Or perhaps you can come just like this? No touch, no order, just my demands.”
Tank figured that was a rhetorical question and kept sucking.
Isaac slowed his thrusting. The hands buried in Tank’s hair relaxed, urging him with tiny pets once more into stillness. Tank obeyed the unspoken command without question. Although there might have been an involuntary (and very manly) whimper when that perfect cock was withdrawn.
Isaac explained. “Not yet. Not this way.”
Tank jolted with anticipation.
Isaac was looking at him, head tilted to one side, fond and awed. “I really want to fuck you. Would you let me?”
Tank was confused. Of course he would. What sort of stupid question was that? Oh yeah, first date. Or not even really that. He’d forgotten all the nice little dances humans did around courting and sexual ritual. Tank nodded, then lowered his eyelids, hoping Isaac understood. Not only would he allow it, he needed it.
Isaac found lube somewhere and Tank found the bed somehow. Rising shakily to his feet and falling shakily back to his knees on an old worn blanket that had seen better days. Better years, really.
Isaac’s big hand was tender, stroking the line of his spine, and Tank forgot about the blanket.
Isaac passed him the lube. “Prepare yourself. I want to watch you while I strip.”
It would never have occurred to Tank to disobey and he was too far gone on the man to be embarrassed. He did as instructed, a familiar task, as he always preferred to be filled. Even alone, he had fingers or toys, sometimes both. It was never quite good enough – never quite real enough – when he did it to himself, but that was because he could not make use of himself, not in the right way.
He hung his head and performed the deed mechanically, trying not to take pleasure from it. Pleasure was not his to give to himself. That would be for Isaac, and with Isaac’s permission.
He heard a little shift and moan and swiveled his eyes to see Isaac frozen, holding his shirt in one hand, staring at him. Starving. He’d never inspired such want before. The man looked like he might die without him. Gray eyes fixed on where Tank scissored three fingers, stretching and pushing in and out.
“Holy fucking Christ on a cracker,” Isaac breathed. “I’ve never seen—” He choked on his words, suddenly a lanky flurry of activity as he stripped himself out of his jeans, tight enough to make him hop on one leg and flail slightly.
His gaze narrowed as if he expected Tank to chuckle. But Tank was breathing short and fast and hopeful, because Isaac was now gloriously naked.
Free of his clothing at last, Isaac stalked to Tank. His body big and lean and sculpted. He’d very little hair and all of it close and black and tightly curled. His eager cock jutted and Tank licked his lips.
Isaac fisted himself briefly, as though he could not help it. Or perhaps he was just spreading lube over the condom. Tank hoped not too much – he liked the burn.
Then Isaac was on him, folded over him, all soft silken flesh. He pulled Tank’s own fingers out, and replaced them with the blunt head of that perfect cock. He pushed relentlessly in, no pause for Tank to adjust, no accommodation given for his size, just unending burning pressure.
Tank lived for this. Perhaps too much, he sometimes thought. The dark, aching glide of being taken. He trembled but held still, back arched slightly, loving every moment. Isaac was definitely one of the more endowed of his male lovers, but oh, so perfect. Tank felt, even as he was filled, that he was being shoved out of his own body, so that he floated above it in some warm safe other place, and looked down to see Isaac’s dark back mounted above his pale one.
Isaac stilled for a long moment all the way in, absorbing Tank and gathering himself.
Tank hung his head and waited and willed himself not to come, not yet. He was skewered like the pack’s full moon kill, hunted and sacrificed. Providing for his mate. Nourishment.
Isaac pulled back out just as slowly. Then came that relentless thrust forward again, a little faster. Isaac shifted his hips slightly this time, and pressed down on the small of Tank’s back with one wide, firm hand, so he fell to his elbows and widened his thighs. Isaac’s uncompromising cock pressed over his prostate. Tank shuddered and cried out.
Isaac pulled back a tiny bit and slid in again, and back and forth, until he was pulsing against Tank in tiny pushes exactly over that spot.
Tank shuddered and moaned and his cock strained and began to drip an endless milking stream, part orgasm, part agony, because Tank had not been told he could come, and he hadn’t realized he was so close.
He started to shake, trying to hold it back, but Isaac was committed, and apparently getting off on Tank’s whimpering.
“Please,” Tank begged. Not sure if he was asking for relief, or persistence, or acquittal.
Whatever it was stopped the pulsing massage of his gland. Isaac began pounding into him, almost uncontrolled, his movements desperate. Now nothing else mattered but bracing himself and taking it.
It was utterly glorious, serving this man. The odd weightlessness of pure surrender. A suspension of all things but desire. Tank lost everything, head pressed to the ugly blanket, the slap of flesh echoing in his skull, the smell of arousal filling him to overflowing. There was only Isaac’s body above him and in him and against him. Small, unintelligible words punctuated his thrusts, but nothing distinct, no orders, just praise. There was nothing else but this man and this moment.
Tank surprised himself with his own abrupt need to climax. He half thought it had been happening all along, his balls high and tight and tingling insistently. But suddenly, there it was, demanding he notice. It snapped him back into his own body. He whimpered at the loss of selflessness.
Isaac was deep inside him, jerking and crying out.
Tank managed a rough, broken “Can I—? Please. God, can I please—”
Isaac chocked out a despair-filled, “Yes,” which might have been his own climax, but Tank took it as permission.
Then Tank was flying with release, transported out of himself by his own pl
easure this time. There was a slight disappointment in the relief, except that he knew in his bones that Isaac was happy.
He’d made Isaac happy.
His man was a heavy, wrung-out, weight draped atop him. Tank relished the burden. He could take it, of course. Isaac was a big man, but Tank was bigger, and eager to hold him up even though his own knees were weak and his elbows trembled. Isaac remained inside him, limp and spent.
Tank wasn’t sure what to do then. Wait? Fall? Roll? Leave? Already he was yearning for something more, some further intimacy. He felt perfectly used and inexplicably lonely – fragile. A tiny part of his soul felt rebuffed, some necessary connection absent, held apart by Isaac.
Then long, sweat-damp brown arms wrapped around him, and soft lips touched the nape of his neck. Isaac’s weight tilted him to the side so they were resting, neither in Tank’s wet spot, curled together.
Isaac trailed a hand over Tank’s exposed side, from ribs to hip to ass and back up again.
Tank made a small noise of acceptance.
“Thank you.” Isaac’s voice was deepened by lust and some other emotion more complicated than gratitude.
That was, in some strange way, enough – to be acknowledged and held close.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nude Awakenings
Isaac wasn’t sure how he felt. Wrecked perhaps? Utterly vulnerable and impossibly powerful at the same time. He basked in it, and Tank’s smell, all around him, all over him and in his space, citrus and brandy and warm winter spices, something freshly killed and lovingly set before him. Or perhaps it was he who had done the killing and providing and loving?
That thought shook him.
I need to get up and dispose of the condom.
Isaac had used a rubber for reasons of blow job, not fucking, of course. He may not smell like a werewolf, but he tasted like one, and another shifter would surely know the spicy flavor of his cum. He’d learned that the hard way, somewhere in New Mexico. Maybe Santa Fe?
He moved quietly out of his room to the bathroom. At some point his roommates had returned but they were now blessedly asleep. The house was quiet. He tossed the condom and cleaned himself up, then leaned on the ancient pedestal sink and stared into the speckled mirror at his own confused face. What had just happened?
The Omega Objection Page 10