Reluctant Mates - 21 Paranormal Romance Stories (Werewolf, Vampire, Minotaur and Monster collection) (65 page)

In one smooth motion, Bolton rubbed the back of his hand across my forehead and slipped two of his fingers into my mouth. I wet them, rolled my tongue around and between them, and kissed at them when he pulled them out. Opening my eyes, my eagerness grew when I saw him suck on those same two fingers, getting them nice and wet. He grinned and gently pushed my head back to the ground.

As best I could, I lifted my hips off the ground to help him get underneath me. He traced a circle around my hole with those two sloppy fingers, and poked the tip of one inside me. My asshole clenched a little as he did, and then relaxed to let him play. An inch at a time, he pushed in and then retreated, giving my body time to adjust. Having him stretch me out like this was just what I needed. A long, contented sigh escaped my lips when Bolton’s finger was halfway inside me and I felt his other hand wrap back around the base of my dick and start pumping again.

“Remember, if you want anything special, just ask.”

I shook my head. “You’re in charge,” I had to stop for a second as his second finger joined the first in my hole and a gasp caught in my throat, “boss.” He grinned, grunted a “mhm,” and kept working.

Twisting, turning and rotating inside me, Bolton’s two fingers hit every single one of the spots that always turn me to jelly. I yelped, I writhed and I let out a nervous laugh or two, but I never stopped feeling incredible. That was what Bolton did to me. He shoved those two fingers deeper, never stopped rotating them, and then, when I thought it couldn’t get any better, he lowered his mouth over the head of my cock and pulled his hand up to meet his lips.

Up and down, up and down, his hand and mouth went. Right together, never stopping, he made love to my body in a way so gentle, but so urgent that I couldn’t help but spread my legs a little wider, and lift my hips off the palette.

I opened my eyes long enough to see him grin. He knew what he was doing to me, and he loved every second of it.

I pushed up against his hand, driving him deeper, relishing the sweet ache.

“Does this feel good?” He asked, vibrating my cockhead with his voice.

A response in words was simply too much at that point. Mumbles and groaning were about all that came out. He chuckled again, and started to turn that incredible tongue of his in circles around my tip’s ridge, flicking it underneath on that most wonderfully sensitive part.

Tension rose up, forcing the muscles of my lower body to clench once and then relax. He licked away the little droplet of pre-cum that came up, grinned up at me, and then stuffed his mouth with my cock again. His hand squeezed hard where my shaft met my balls, and he pulled my skin taut. This shot a surge through me that forced my hips to grind even harder against him.

Bolton wrestled his fingers all the way in, and closed his lips around my dickhead. His slow, even-paced strokes turned faster, harder, more urgent. He yanked in bursts now, lashing back and forth across my tip with his tongue and rotating the fingers inside me harder, curling them a little at the first knuckle. My mind drifted back to the fantasy from earlier, alternating between him bending me over and ramming me from behind and me laying here on the ground with him sitting on me and riding my cock. Back and forth, faster, harder, the images in my mind shifted. I couldn’t stand it anymore, I knew I was about to explode.

“Cum for me,” he said softly, but with a palpable hunger in his voice, “cum for me whenever you want. I’m gonna swallow it and then I’m going to kiss you so deep and so hard that you taste yourself.”

That tiny slice of dirty talk broke me.

Air heaved out of my chest. I clenched my teeth, sucking a breath between them, and straining to hold off on cumming as long as I could. I didn’t want this to stop. I didn’t want to let him go.

I didn’t have a choice.

I let out an “Ah!” as the tension in my balls erupted. My asshole gripped his fingers, refusing to let them move and I clutched his head against my cock. As soon as the first stream shot out of my dick, Bolton held his lips tight over me, so that none of my cum escaped. A singe of hot pleasure radiated up through my groin and washed up my belly, over my shoulders. My vision wavered, and I was lost. My entire world became, for a blissful second, Bolton’s lips and his hands. I didn’t feel anything else, didn’t experience anything else. My thoughts melted and my mind relaxed completely.

He milked me for a long moment until he was sure there was none left.

Just as promised, as soon as the world started to become real again in my mind, I felt Bolton’s breath on my cheek. I opened my eyes to see him, only inches away. He lowered his face to mine, pressing his lips first to the side of my face and then to my lips. He slipped his tongue in and I tasted myself on him. I tasted us, our scents mixed on his breath.

Relaxing beside me, Bolton slipped his arm under my head to give me a pillow.

“You did it, you know. It was all you. Everyone did their part, sure. Without you though, Moreno would still be out there, probably would have taken over by now. This whole country owes you more than they’ll ever know. You won’t ever hear a single word of thanks. They don’t even know you exist. Are you alright with that, Mathis?”

I blinked, hard.

“I’m alright with whatever happens as long as you’re there,” I said, a little amazed at my own honesty.

“Me too,” he said, a hand to my face, “me too.”

***

T
wo days later, there was no trace of the Jungle Wolves left in Bolivia. The camp was broken down completely and every single thing we’d taken in had been either destroyed or packed. I lay back on the floor of a low-flying, predictably black helicopter, and listened to the chopper blades whip through the air above me.

Whop-whop-whop-whop
.

It was a strangely peaceful sound that meant, for the time being, safety.

I looked around. Samson, his leg splinted, bound and bandaged, had some sort of handheld video game. Miller took apart a radio transceiver and was trying to make a stereo out of it. Andrews was carving a tiny little head – one of those Easter Island guys – out of a piece of soap. Crockett occupied himself with a book about the Roman Empire.

Bolton was in the cockpit, trying to get a connection with HQ on a giant radio receiver. For a long time, there was just a lot of awful-sounding static, but he eventually got it worked out. After a few minutes of frantic chattering, and some very choice phrases out of Bolton, he pushed through the tiny cockpit door and looked around, sucking on the stump of a cigar.

“Men, we have our orders.”

Everyone stopped what they were doing. Well, everyone except for Andrews. He was too excited about his little statue.

“Using the information given to us by Mathis’s incredible ingenuity, and his document theft,” he nodded to me, “we’ve tracked who we think is the leader that Vlad, our dearly-departed friend, sold out.”

He looked around. For the first time, I noticed he had a real flair for the theatrical delivery of information.

“Wolves,” he nodded and looked from man to man to man, “we’re going to Borneo.”

––––––––

T
he pounding, driving bass coming from the speakers about ten feet from Dylan’s head finally got to be too much just over two hours into the concert. He actually came to see the first band that played, but figured that he may as well stay for the whole thing since he dropped a big wad of cash on the tickets. A couple of his good friends were in the opening act, so he’d come to support them and fill the concert hall a little bit. Although he enjoyed their show, this main act was just awful. The band seemed to be completely out of it, and probably was, judging from the concert schedule they’d been sticking too. This was the last date of a three month long tour, and they were very obviously exhausted.

Even so, there was one saving grace: the guitarist.

Dylan had no clue about the guy – he never listened to the band before, didn’t know any of their names, nothing. What he did know was that this guy was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous. He was tall, very trim, and seemed to be cut from marble. The skin of his bare chest was pale, and he had a beautiful mop of black hair shagging down around his chin. Even though the rest of the band was awful, Dylan had settled in to just staring at this guy, with his mouth a little agape. A couple of times during the show, the guitarist had looked around the audience and focused his attention on Dylan for a few seconds, but that was probably just good showmanship. After all, Dylan figured, why would this alabaster creature be interested in him? He was just a normal guy in normal clothes, and this guy could probably have anyone he wanted.

As the sound droned on and began to grate on Dylan’s nerves, he decided that it was time to take a break. After one last gaze at the guitarist, he made his way to the exit and went to find a bathroom. Lighting a cigarette and wandering around the almost-abandoned front of the venue, he lost himself in his thoughts. Immediately, of course, he began to daydream about that lithe, pallid guitarist, thrusting his hips in time with the thumping bass. He flicked his cigarette aside and decided to wander around outside for some fresh air.

The show had just ended when he got to the back door of the place. Security was rushing band members out to the tour bus, and he noticed his friends from the opening band hanging out and signing autographs.

“Oh, hey Dylan!” his buddy, Jay, yelled over the heads of the crowd. “You like the show?”

“Absolutely man, great show and great new tunes.” he replied, glad to see a familiar face.

“Cool, good to hear. Hey man, this is going to sound kind of strange,” Jay said, “but someone was looking for you around here earlier. Someone from that headlining band – I think it was the guitarist maybe? Could have been the bassist, I guess, those little waif-type guys all pretty much look the same to me.”

To be sure, Jay was no waif. He was more of a bipedal bear, really. Big, barrel chest covered in hair. He looked, Dylan thought, like a drummer ought to look.

Suddenly, what Jay said caught Dylan like a fist in the jaw.

“Did you say the guitarist was looking for me? The thin one with the shaggy hair? Really?” Dylan had been reduced to stammering.

“I guess, yeah, he was a little dude. They all have shaggy hair though, so I’ll just say yes.” Jay laughed and went back to his autographs.

Dylan had a problem. His guitarist crush wanted to see him, or was at least looking for him. Thing is, he had no idea how to get ahold of him. Out of horny desperation, he decided to take the most foolish path: he asked security.

“Hey... uh... Dan,” he began, addressing the guard nearest the tour bus after looking at his name badge, “my friend over there said someone from the band was looking for me.” Dan did not seem to be impressed with his presentation.

With a heavy, world-weary sigh, Dan opened his eyes half-way. “Look, I’ll go ask, but if you’re lying to me, I’m going to... well, I’ll be pissed. Wait here.”

Seconds later, a bunch of faces appeared in the windows of the bus, and one of them nodded. It was him, it was the guitarist. “What on Earth does he want with me?” Dylan asked to no-one in particular.

“You’ll find out, same as the rest of them, I guess,” said Dan, who had just reappeared. “Go on up, Burke is waiting for you in the back.”

Dylan’s nerves rose as he ascended the steps in the diesel-scented night air. As he entered the lavish bus, he noticed that there was a giant party going on in the front part, and that the back of the vehicle was sectioned off into rooms, a bit like you’d find in a trailer home.

“I’m looking for Burke!” he shouted, trying to go over the din of noise.

The only response from the small crowd of pale, nearly-nude people was to shove him down the aisle and point toward the back of the bus. He knocked at the first door he came to, and a sultry “enter” came from within.

When Dylan opened the door, he was surprised by how well anointed the little room was. It couldn’t have been more than ten feet by ten feet, but there were thick curtains, a heavy carpet and candles all over the place. The whole room was draped in very expensive black velvet, and in the middle of a lushly covered mattress in the middle of the room was Burke.

“So,” he began, his voice crushed velvet like the wall hangings, “you came. I guess you didn’t really have much of a choice though.”

Dylan was a bit confused by that remark, which Burke picked up on.

“You mortals are all the same,” he grinned, showing two pointed teeth, “first you think we don’t exist. Next thing you convince yourself is that you’re different and you can’t be tricked the same way everyone else can. Well, we do, and you can. Have been, actually.”

His head swimming, Dylan sat down hard on the bed. “Wait, what do you mean by all that? Are you telling me you’re some kind of vampire?”

“We all are. But that’s beside the point. You came here, to me. That means you wanted to. Even though I can influence you and make you horny as all fuck, I can’t force you to do anything. I saw you looking at me. I know you want to be here.” Burke said, clearly wanting to get down to business.

He was right. Dylan was getting so hard that he was afraid his pants would rip.

The vampire snuffed his clove cigarette and crossed the small room, putting one hand behind Dylan’s head and one to the bulge in his crotch. “Oh my,” Burke said, licking his lips, “someone came ready.”

“You aren’t going to pull anything are you? I mean, you won’t bite me? Turn me into... one of you?” Dylan asked, although in honesty he probably wouldn’t have stopped now whatever Burke said.

“No, I won’t.” Burked replied, with a chuckle. “Anyway, that isn’t how it works. I’ll only do it if you want me to, I promise.”

Dylan believed him. The vampire, whatever he was, didn’t seem to be the sort to lie. He didn’t need to.

In the space of a second, Burke squeezed Dylan’s cock through his jeans and rubbed his hand down the shaft. When Dylan gasped at the attention, Burke yanked his hair back and put his ruby colored lips against the skin of Dylan’s throat. In a tease, the rock star nibbled behind Dylan’s ear and drew a circle with his tongue. A tingle shot down the back of the Dylan’s neck and raised a trail of goose bumps all the way down his back.