“Like what?”
Max’s voice dropped an octave. “I’ll suck your cock if you’ll let me kiss you.”
Quiggs stared as if this were a trick. “Stefan said you don’t suck cock.”
“Sucking cock is as much a perversion to my nature as kissing is to yours.”
“Is kissing a feral thing? Because Beau always slobbered on me and whined when I pushed him away. I finally agreed to let him lick my neck if he’d braid my hair.”
“Kissing is how ferals seal bonds among members in the den. A feral refused a kiss by others is an outcast. Which was why he licked your neck every night. He needed to bond with you as much as he needed air to breathe.”
Quiggs screwed up his face. “Kissing a man’s mouth is as filthy as kissing a toilet.”
“Rather what I think of sucking off a man.”
“I’ll agree to a short kiss if it’s about manly bonding instead of sex. As long as there’s no tongue. Just a quick close-lipped pucker. But you have to suck me off first. And rinse your mouth out with some brandy before we touch lips.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “The deal is this, my picky concubine. I will go first. For however long it takes me to suck you off, you owe me the same amount of time kissing your mouth. No sweet little pucker pecks either. I’m talking both our mouths open, with my tongue sweeping inside and swapping spit while I grind my cock against yours.”
Quiggs’s breathing hitched as if he’d never thought of a kiss bringing other body parts into contact. “Um… I’d like the grinding part, but we kiss with our mouths closed.”
“Nonnegotiable. The only pucker I want from you is between your butt cheeks when my fingers work your hole until you’re loose and begging.”
Quiggs’s mouth fell slack. He licked his lips unconsciously. “I… oh, wow. Okay. I’ll kiss for however long it takes you to suck me off.”
“Agreed.”
Quiggs sent Max a shy smile. “I should pee first, then clean up.” He darted off the bed, giving Max a glimpse of a rounded butt before he disappeared behind the screen.
Max slumped on the edge of the bed. Had he actually agreed to wrap his lips around a cock?
Quiggs returned, modestly holding a towel over his cock. He hopped on the bed and propped himself on pillows against the headboard. “May I see you naked first?”
Color heated Max’s bronzed cheeks. He’d kept his robe on, his cock confined under the belt, wanting Quiggs sated and relaxed before introducing him to Max’s unusual appendage. “Not yet.”
Quiggs drew a deep breath, fingering the edge of the towel.
“Are you nervous?” Max asked. “Want me to stroke you?”
“You think I’m soft?” Quiggs pitched the towel aside and thrust up his hips. “You couldn’t hammer this boner flat. Get going.”
Laughter rumbled in Max’s chest, gradually fading as he realized the moment had arrived, and he hadn’t a clue how to get going. His sexual skills were limited to perfunctory hand jobs and uncomplicated fucking.
He examined Quiggs’s eager boner. If a cock could be called pretty, Quiggs’s cock was quite pretty. There were no heavy veins or crooks on the long shaft. The shaft was slender but adequate and supported a smooth, rosy ball sack the shade of the lips Max longed to kiss. He glided his fingertips over the shaft, then rolled the sack. The caress was nothing skilled or fancy, yet Quiggs’s chest rose and fell. His skin flushed. He gasped and squirmed, his head rolling side to side on the pillow. He gripped handfuls of the fur coverlet. “Max… please… oh, please… I’m begging you...”
Max battled his feral blood, uncertain if he could take a man’s cock—no matter how scrubbed and pretty it looked—in his mouth without gagging. His gorge rose as his stomach battled with his feral nature. His throat squeezed as images of the many cocks he’d fondled flashed across his mind. Ripe, thick, veiny cocks nestled in pubic hair matted with come and sweat. At least Quiggs was already hard for him. Coaxing a limp cock was as appealing as rolling a raw eel in his mouth. He gripped the base of the shaft, determined to do this. He flattened his tongue and opened his mouth to engulf the knob. He heard a tsk and glanced up to find Quiggs shaking his head. “What’s wrong?”
“Spit first. Get me slippery. Even I know that, Max.”
Max knew that too. He was rattled and not thinking clearly. Flushing, he sat back on his heels and worked up a mouthful of spit.
Quiggs drawled, “You look like you’re getting ready to spray a fire.”
Max snickered and swallowed his spit, his curse sending Quiggs into rolling laughter. Max waited for him to settle down. “Any other advice you’d like to tell me before I work up another wad?”
“When you’re giving head, look like you’re enjoying it, not biting the strap before a doctor sets a bone. Relax the muscles in your jaw. Breathe through your nose, especially a deep inhale before going down. Um… I like to tug my twins when I masturbate, so don’t forget to worship my ball sack while you suck. And remember to curl your lips over your teeth. Are there any feral surprises… like fangs?”
“No fangs… I… oh, goddammit!” Max swallowed his spit again when he spoke.
“Sheesh. Take a drink of water. Relax.”
“I’d rather drink brandy.”
“Alcohol tightens the throat. Every cadet is taught this. Or did you sleep through the lectures on basics?” He passed Max a vial of oil from the end table. “It’s flavored.”
Max sampled a drop. Tasted like berries. He drizzled a little on Quiggs’s hard cock, then worried the damn thing would lodge in his throat if Quiggs face-fucked him.
Quiggs bit his lip as if reading his mind. “You can’t swallow my cock and choke. Gather your courage, open up, and put my cockhead in your mouth. Perhaps you should quit thinking of it as a cock. Think of it as a… a doorknob.”
“Doorknobs don’t have keyholes leaking cum.”
Quiggs’s glistening doorknob bobbed as he guffawed. He obviously believed Max couldn’t do this and waited for the Defender of the Triangle to admit defeat.
Max inhaled deeply, gripped the slippery root using a thumb and forefinger, closed his eyes, and slurped down the cockhead with his lips properly curled over his teeth. There, he’d done it. He had a cock in his mouth without his own manly balls shriveling to dust.
Quiggs arched in response to the wet heat. His thighs trembled, and his head thrashed. His mouth opened in a silent scream.
Max tightened his grip to prevent Quiggs from banging the back of his throat. He tasted pre-cum. Not pissy as he’d dreaded. Not tasty either. He let it drool from a corner of his mouth, afraid he’d gag if it slid down his throat. He certainly had no intention of swallowing seed. In fact, he should tell Quiggs to warn him before he erupted.
Upon that sick thought, a “Fuck yes!” rang out. Hot, salty spurts filled Max’s mouth as Quiggs bucked out his release. Max pulled off with a wet pop. Thick ropes of cum slid down his chin along with oily spit. A spatter clung to the back of his throat. Although tempted to hawk it up like curdled milk, he forced himself to swallow. He swallowed… swallowed… swallowed… before his throat relented, and the spatter slid down.
Max scrambled off the bed for the bottle of brandy on the vanity. He swished around a generous swallow, gargled it, and sent it down the hatch to burn off the cum, as if it would grow mold if it lingered in his stomach.
It probably ranked as one of the five worst blow jobs in the history of the Triangle. But Max had successfully completed his side of the bargain. Their agreement was for a kiss as long as the blow job had lasted. Which was, when he counted up, ten seconds worth instead of the eternity it had seemed at the time. Max felt fucking cheated. After he’d come at the banquet, Quiggs should have held it back for two minutes at the very least.
Max scrubbed his face with a towel. Stefan hadn’t overestimated the number of towels needed. He walked back to the bed and gazed down at Quiggs’s blissful face, eyes rolled back, his belly still jiggly from the aft
ermath. A flush splotched his neck and chest.
“My turn.” Max snapped the towel across Quiggs’s belly to get his attention. “Thanks for the warning, by the way.”
“Sorry.” Quiggs clearly wasn’t as he beamed up at Max and wiped off his softened cock with the towel handed him. “I owe you one kiss… to the count of twelve.”
“No way that’s right!”
“I know. I added a bonus two seconds for not warning you.” Quiggs snickered when Max glared down at him. “What can I say? I’m twenty, and it was my first blow job.”
“You cheated me!”
“You put my cock in your mouth. No tongue action, no cheek action, no humming, no sucking. Therefore, it barely qualifies as a blow job.” Quiggs yawned and closed his eyes. “Goodnight, Max.”
“Are you refusing me?”
Quiggs mumbled, “Can’t help it. Always sleepy after I come.”
Max crawled up over him and lightly slapped his cheeks. “Don’t fall asleep on me!” His voice held desperation. “You owe me, Quiggs. Pay up. It’s my turn, dammit.”
Quiggs closed his eyes, his mouth relaxing into a goofy grin. He looked as if his bones were mush, and his brilliant brain had snuffed out, leaving beautiful plumes of incense.
Max’s body howled with frustration.
His claws, however, were quiet.
Chapter Nineteen
Quiggs awakened to find he’d flopped over on his stomach with the right side of his face mashed against a pillow. A musky scent clung to his skin, and his neck felt sticky as if licked. Like when Beau roused him from bed in the morning.
“Go away, Beau,” he mumbled. From habit, he slid his hand below his waist to check out his morning wood. Instead of leaking dick, he found a large pillow in his path pushing his naked ass up in the air. Huh? What the…?
He gasped at a burning, twisting pressure. A heavy hand on his back pressed him down when he tried to roll away.
“The ache you’re feeling is the plug I’m sliding into your tight hole.” With those dark words, Max worked the greased plug in an inch.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit… the big plug. The whopper he always lied to Stefan about when asked if he’d practiced stretching. Quiggs woke fully alert to the truth—he was no longer a cadet. He was an unclaimed concubine.
Max knelt one knee on the bed and planted the other foot on the floor as he applied more twisting pressure. “I’ve never fucked a virgin hole.” Max spoke conversationally as if they were at the breakfast table. “If medical hadn’t cleared you for penetration, I’d be afraid of tearing you, as tight as you are.”
“Ow-ow-ow! You’re spit roasting me!”
“Relax. Stop pushing out.”
Instead, Quiggs tightened and pressed deeper into the pillow to escape the burn. He yelped as a hand smacked his ass.
“Cooperate.”
Quiggs blew out a noisy breath. He felt his ring resisting the pressure. “Couldn’t this wait until after—oh-oh-oh—breakfast?”
Max dropped the friendly tone. “Right now, I’m beyond horny. It’s morning. You slept like the dead all night no matter where I touched or licked. I didn’t sleep at all. From now on. I come first. Lesson learned.”
Quiggs panted as Max twisted the plug. “I always sleep—ooof—like the dead. Especially after—ooof-ooof-ooof—coming twice. Oh fuck, stop!”
The plug bumped something, causing a different hitch in Quiggs’s breathing—the much-lauded third nut. The one two inches up his anus and belly side. The place he’d never quite located because until now it had slept like the dead too. Quiggs heard a cooing sound. Was that him? Another bump. Holy fuck, it was him cooing. Despite the burn, his cock stirred.
“Feeling better?” Max asked.
“Mmmmmm.” He closed his eyes as Max gently rubbed the plug against the sweet spot.
“Wake the fuck up!” Max shoved the plug in to the hilt, then released him.
Quiggs scooted away, lying with his blazing backside facing the wall. He immediately reached behind to ease it out.
Max growled, “Leave it in until you’re relaxed.”
“How am I supposed to relax with a plug up my ass? We’ll be here all day and into tomorrow before I relax.” Quiggs pulled a pillow under his head, another over his deflated cock.
Max made himself comfortable sitting on the bed with his legs crossed. Quiggs forgot the plug when he saw that Max was naked. A smooth broad chest padded with muscle tapered to a trim waist, and his arms were bigger than Quiggs’s thighs. His skin was a light bronze all over with little body hair. Slashing claws had left pale stripes across his chest and upper arms. Fangs had ripped flesh on the side of his left hip, leaving behind a jagged dent.
The scars shamed Quiggs for whimpering at the plug’s burn.
“Feel free to touch and look. My concubine’s privilege.” Max raised a knee and spread his legs wide to offer a better view.
Quiggs lowered his gaze. His mouth went dry at the erection jutting up against Max’s navel. Raising himself up on his elbow, he took his first look at the cock he was expected to service, surprised how it slapped up against Max’s belly instead of sagging in an S-curve from the weight. Quiggs would have applauded the magnificence, except he remembered its destination was deep inside him.
Leaving the plug in until tomorrow seemed a good idea.
Max’s cock was as long and thick as Quiggs’s bony wrist. The ring on the dark-veined shaft intrigued him. For years, he and Beau had speculated on its purpose. Cadets ridiculed Beau’s ring. Max must have endured terrible nicknames and pranks before he became the Athletic Champion.
Max’s fists clenched on his thighs, his posture braced for rejection. “Do I disgust you?” he asked quietly, confirming Quiggs’s suspicions
“I lived with Beau, so I know about the difference. I’ve never seen an erect one before. It’s… it’s… intriguing.”
Max fists relaxed.
Quiggs sat up for a closer view and hissed as the plug jiggled. To relieve the pressure, he went up on all fours as he inspected the anomaly. His fingers explored until Max’s straining erection looked like a fat eel that had swallowed a mollusk. He stroked the frenulum with two thumbs and watched the ring swell and lighten to a pale pink. Odd. Why hadn’t it flushed a dark red from engorged blood like the rest of the shaft?
He focused on the puzzle, absently voicing his thoughts. “Doctors told me Beau’s ring was a muscle that pleasured a female’s channel, inciting strong contractions to draw in ejaculate.” He blinked up at Max for confirmation.
Max’s face was as purplish red as his mushroom crown. “You fucking tease. Stop talking and stroke me.”
But Quiggs was immersed in observation instead of pleasuring. He detected undulations in the ring when he petted it. “Come on, Max. Is it a muscle allowing you to move your cock like a third arm?”
“It is not a third arm. It does not perform tricks.”
Quiggs gently pinched up the ring to see how it was attached to the shaft. “Do you knot inside a woman?”
Max leered down at Quiggs. “I’ve never fucked a woman to know. Want to know if it knots when I fuck a man’s channel?”
“What I want is to observe your ring when you ejaculate.” Quiggs slid a hand down Max’s cock from tip to base, then in reverse from base to tip. He didn’t see pre-cum. Determined to rub Max off, he two-fisted the monster fast and hard with squeezing twists to the crown.
Max cursed and stopped the rhythm.
“What am I doing wrong?” Quiggs asked. This was how he enjoyed jerking off.
“You need slick when there’s no pre-cum,” Max told him. “Every cadet is taught this. Or did you skip the lectures?”
“After a night of sustained arousal, you should be leaking pre-cum like a cracked faucet. But your slit’s dry, which must mean…” Quiggs’s voice trailed off as his mind chased down the answer. His grip on the shaft slackened.
“No! Stay with me!”
Quig
gs sucked in a breath before rattling off, “You can’t leak because the ring isn’t a muscle to pleasure a female. It’s a gland designed to secrete scent into the ejaculate traveling down your shaft. The scent is white, probably viscous and plentiful, which explains why the ring pales as it swells. The absence of pre-cum suggests a sphincter that won’t relax until you orgasm.” Quiggs rocked back on his heels, arms fisting the air in triumph.
A baleful silence from Max brought him back to the present.
“Um… I’ll get the oil.”
Quiggs fetched the oil off the nightstand, dragged a fur rug beside the bed, and motioned for Max to sit on the edge of the mattress and open his thighs. He knelt between them and, following Stefan’s lessons, drizzled the berry-flavored oil on Max’s flagging cock. With firm, smooth strokes, he soon had his owner hard.
He watched Max thrust into his hands. “Max?”
“Hmmmm?”
“I’m right about your ring, aren’t I?”
Max flopped backward on the bed with an arm over his eyes. He heaved an aggrieved sigh. “The ring is a gland surrounded by muscle. The sphincter releases scent to mix with seed during ejaculation. It only leaks in response to a female’s breeding heat. During copulation, the ring pulses and heats, soothing the female’s breeding frenzy so she does not harm the male. When a male reaches orgasm, the scent intoxicates a female, so she doesn’t eviscerate him with a back kick. The odor offends humans. Men rush away to scrub off after having sex with me.”
Max reared up on his elbows, astonished at his scholarly speech. “Dammit. Your brain fog is contagious.” He fell back on the bed. “Any more questions?”
“I’m done. Thank you.”
Quiggs hummed as he focused on stroking Max to orgasm and examining the ejaculate. He varied the rhythm, learning his owner preferred three slow twisting strokes, then a simple fast six. Then a pause, followed by three light pulsing squeezes on his ring between thumb and forefinger. Each time Max neared the edge, he squeezed his massive thighs around Quiggs’s waist and disrupted the rhythm.
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