Space Invaders (20 page)

Frey was silent.

I shrugged. “No big.”

“You say much that is not your heart.” His palm pressed into my chest. “I will see to your comfort, guide.”

“Look—” I was going to tell him I wasn’t in the mood anymore, but he lifted the arm with the mole and pressed his mouth to my armpit again.

I moaned.

I pictured us with my eyes closed. I could see myself on the wooden kitchen chair where I’d eaten coco pops and done homework. My legs were open and he was kneeling between them, kissing the sensitive inside of my arm ardently, trailing the blue veins until he reached the inside of my elbow.

“Oh, God!”

Sparks seemed to rise from my skin with each brush of his beard against me, with the hot lash of his tongue. He ate me up, absorbing me with absolute attention.

He jerked me forwards and my eyes snapped open. His face was hard, his eyes closed as if touching me this way was painful for him. I felt like warm rain, falling all around him, encompassing him, and I wondered what it was like to sleep for hundreds of years. Did he dream? Did he ache to be touched?

“Yes!” he growled, as if he had read my thought. “Yes, I want to touch, smell, taste you. You have the power, little one.”

“I’m not—”

“Argumentative.” He took all the argument out of me when he opened my thighs wide and put them on his shoulders. He bent down and kissed the inside of my leg, as pale and vulnerable a place as the inside of my armpit.

I let out a scream.

“You are noisy as I pleasure you, it is good,” Frey said. “I want to taste the issue of your body.”

“Huh?” Then I got it. “Oh.” I blushed. He wanted to suck me off and taste my cum. “Most guys wear condoms for that nowadays. Safety,” I mumbled. Oh, geez. He was… His lips against my balls, plumped in one of his huge hands, hanging like fruit for him to suckle. And he did. Ravenously.

“I will keep you safe,” Frey said. “It is my duty to excite you, to make you content to lie in my arms.”

He took his duty frickin’ seriously. My hands caged his skull as he suckled the tip of my cock, taking his time swallowing my respectable length. I tried to fuck his mouth, so eager, so on fire, like never before. Dream lover, he was my dream lover.

“Stay,” he commanded me, holding my body so I couldn’t do anything but quiver like a guitar string as he played me, over and over again, tuning me up so I was moaning continuously, shamelessly.

“Oh please, Frey!”

He laughed against my skin, the vibrations and the silky beard and the flash of white teeth and the devilish way he looked at me under heavy eyelids. He knew exactly how he worked me.

“Please… Please, Frey. I need it. I’m crazy for it.”

“You are pleasured.” He sounded smug again and I could tell from the smile on his shiny lips that he loved what he was doing, without reservation. There was no calculation there, that if he gave me X amount of oral, I’d return the favour, or twenty minutes of kissing time was enough before the main event.

Frey feasted on me.

Frey…cared.

My breath stalled and I heard nothing but my heart pounding in my chest as I stared at him. No. I couldn’t fall for him. He had as much as admitted that once his mission was over, he’d leave.

The thought cut into my release, raw…hot…painful. I came, spurting on his lips and chin while he laughed in victory. I flew for him, shuddering, and Frey held onto me as if he’d never let me go.

I closed my eyes as he licked me, nuzzling around my sex for everything I’d given him. I tensed at the intimate contact so soon after climax. “Easy.”

“You are young and strong. You can reach enjoyment again.”

“Not now,” I said, very softly. “Please.” He could make me come again but if he did, I’d shatter.

“Guide.” He lifted me, arranged me so I was sitting on him with my legs wrapped around his waist as he held me. I could feel him, huge and swollen, a little dangerous in his passion.

I was too enervated to do anything but lie limply in his arms, but he didn’t seem to expect anything from me. He seemed to enjoy stroking my back, as aftershocks shook me. My climax had been that intense.

From the moment I’d woken up with him on top of me, my body had been heavy, waiting. Wanting to be crushed under him, to be conquered and forced to come.

He reached down and took my cock in his hand.

I felt utterly possessed in his grip, as if he owned my sexuality, as if he had me in a slave’s collar from his time and whenever he wanted I would have to lie on my back and take his thrusts. He
owned
me.

And was that ever a hot thought. I felt myself harden in his hand and I whimpered. He smiled against my neck.

“Frey…”

The world tilted again. He lifted me so I hung over his back. “Hey!”

“Rope?” he prodded.

“Rope?” I echoed.

“This will do.” He had one of the printed dishcloths my mom left out on the counter, and then he had another. He placed me back on the floor in front of the chair and then he tied my wrists above my head.

My heart was galloping, my cock so hard it speared wantonly into the air, flexing as he touched it with one casual finger.

I’d fantasised that I was his sex slave, but he was really making me into one and my body liked it.

He spread my legs wide so I was totally open and accessible for him and his hands lingered, stroking me, satisfaction firing the blue in his eyes. He liked me like this, liked me helpless and needy, my sex begging for his touch.

“You are not sad now,” he said.

“It’s like warrior yoga. Usually I’m so uncomfortable it’s all I can think of, so I guess this is living in the present moment.”

“I make you uncomfortable, guide?” His finger rimmed the tip of my cock, over and over again as I panted, my body trembling for him.

“I wanted you to take me the first time I saw you,” I admitted. “I wanted you to tie me up and conquer me like a Viking.”

“You were made for this,
seiðmaðr.”
He leant down and kissed me, his mouth wet and hot against mine, his beard rasping my skin. “You were made to be the pampered pet of a warrior.”

His ideas were old-fashioned, but they sure as fuck were a turn on. I imagined myself back in his day, lying in his furs. The other warriors would know he pleasured me as I begged him to fuck me hard.

“I can see you tied up with leather straps, writhing on my bed, your lips parting as I feed you my manhood.”

I could see that manhood, solid as an anvil. My mouth watered. It felt like forever since I’d craved the joy of sucking his cock. “Let me,” I whispered. “I want to taste you too.”

He stared at me with heavy eyes, his big chest rising and falling rapidly. “You want me to feed you as I fed on you?” he asked.

“Use me,” I said. “I want to feel you take my mouth, I want to feel you push inside it, come down my throat.”

“You are a slutty servant boy,” he said. “But I find I like it.”

He loomed over me, eyes intent as he reached down and prodded my mouth with his cock and I moaned.

Chapter Six

He felt strange in my mouth at first, large and alien, and I realised it was the shape of him. He was huge and uncut, not like any man I’d ever serviced. And the way he took over, his self-assurance had no trace of the politically correct.

I’d played around with a little spanking and Dominant/submissive stuff before, but Frey was firmly a square peg who had no interest in rounding his corners. If he wanted me tied up and helpless, if he wanted to take me, he would.

And God it made me hot to have him in my mouth, to have him thrust inside, judge just how deep he wanted to go. He held my head in his hands, looking down at me as I accommodated him, his blue eyes burning. He was getting off watching me.

I moaned and he hissed a guttural word, probably one I was better off not knowing, given his outlandish ideas about guy on guy. For Frey, there was the warrior and his boy. I really shouldn’t love filling the boy role so much.

But I’d sooner turn down a really well made mocha.

Frey was dessert and I was more than ready to eat him.

Literally.

He shuddered and all that muscle, all that control, splintered as I took him as much as he claimed me. I’d always loved sucking a guy with a nice dick, but calling Frey’s ‘nice’ was like calling a Botticelli ‘pretty wallpaper’. I loved the thick veins, the springy bronze-blond hair, the way he groaned as he worked his hands on my skull, gentle, but needy.

He muttered things in his rough language, his head thrown back, his nipples hard points, his body shivering every time I licked and swallowed around him. I played him like the very fine instrument he was and God, I loved it, every moment of it. I could definitely live in the present moment—something my Mom preached as part of her yogic deal—if it meant losing myself in his musky scent, in the way his voice broke and he seemed to beg me to take all of him, to take him even deeper.

Tied up, body under his, I felt more powerful than I’d ever felt as I submitted to him, giving him free rein to fuck my mouth.

And he did.

He wasn’t polite about it. He didn’t apologise or look concerned like other guys.

He was not civilised.

He held me still and rutted, watching his cock slide in and out. He grunted, using me lustily. “You were made to do this, to have a cock in your mouth,
seiðmaðr,”
he muttered. His face was harsh. “I hope there will be many nights when I can tie you and take your mouth, listen to you as you pleasure me.” His eyes narrowed. “Finish me.”

Oh Jesus. The commanding tone, the warrior’s barked order. I sucked strong and he shot into my mouth, spilled from it, dripping hot onto my chest.

That finished me. For the first time in my life, without a hand on my cock, I climaxed, coming like the eager, slutty boy he’d made me.

“Over and done,” I said firmly.

Frey sat up, blinking at me, looking sleepy and satisfied. He’d untied my wrists and he pulled me close.

“Let me go.” I shoved out of Frey’s arms.

“Be at ease, guide.”

“I’ll be whatever the fuck I want,” I told him. “The sex was great, but it’s over. No snuggling.”

Now the big lug actually looked hurt, broad forehead wrinkling like he didn’t get me. “I am a desirable lover.”

“I’m sure you’re quite the medieval catch, but we need to eat and to talk. That thing is still out there.”

“You have sensed it?” He stood, magnificently nude.

“How would I know?”

“You need food. You will be better tempered when all your appetites have been met.” His eyes twinkled at me.

“Can you cook?” I lifted a brow.

“That is—”

“Let me guess, woman’s work.”

He gave me an innocent look.

“It’s not cool for a guy not to be able to take care of himself.” I lectured him the way my mom had lectured me when she’d insisted I learn to cook. “If you stay here long enough I’m going to at least show you how to brew your own coffee and use a microwave.”

Since Frey wasn’t concerned about dressing, I didn’t put my stuff back on either. Instead, I dug out instant noodles and added water, putting two containers in the microwave while Frey watched, obviously entranced by modern cooking.

“The box has fire?” he asked as the light went on and the cups rotated.

“Yeah, on a molecular level.”

He looked confused, so I stopped the microwave and took his broad hand, holding it over the warming food. His eyes widened when he felt the steam. “Truly this is a wonder.”

“Dude, you travel through time and space.” I pointed out. “That’s the wonder.”

But his delight was undiminished when I pulled out the cooked noodles, dumping his into a hand-thrown bowl to mix in the spice pack. “Mom would say you need some real veggies for fibre.” I liked cooking for him. I couldn’t take him holding me, but I could do a little cooking, keep it light.

I found some salad ingredients still in the crisper drawer. The lettuce was on the side of about-to-wilt, but it would do. I put it in the sink and let it soak up some cold water while I mixed the salad dressing from scratch.

“Never have I tasted such,” Frey said, eyes tightly closed. He put the bowl to his lips and drank the last of the noodles. “The spice. So rare and costly. A gift.”

“You can have mine too if you want,” I said.

But he shook his head. “You must eat.”

I mixed up the salad as he watched me. He didn’t speak, but he studied my body as much as my face, making my blood heat.

“Salad.” I put the plate in front of him and he cocked his head before cautiously taking his fork. I guessed eating salad was new to him.

“The salad dressing is on the dry side because I used red wine vinegar.”

He attacked the salad, eating with the same focus he brought to fighting. “You made this with wine? A princely offering.”

I flushed but damn, it was nice to hear his sincere appreciation. He drank the salad dressing after he’d eaten the greens. “You are a rare prize.” He cupped my ass and I wondered how many tavern boys had got a friendly swat of approval from him in the past—followed by a lusty tumble.

“I’m something,” I said. “And you’re still hungry.”

Frey looked abashed but despite all of his hulk, he was skinny, like a wolf in the dead of winter. Made sense if he spent so much time fighting or…sleeping between times until he was called up.

“Do you ever get to just…take a vacation?” I asked. “Lie on a beach?”

“I don’t know what a vacation is. Many things are whispered to me as I rest that will help with the coming battle, but not that.”

“It means take a break. Just lie around and eat, sleep…”
And make love
, but I didn’t add that.

Frey shook his head. “Never in my life have I experienced such.” Hesitantly he asked, “It is possible?”

“Yeah. I guess only kings in your day got free time.”

“No, they did not.” Frey sounded very certain.

“I’m going to put some water on to boil. I’ll make you some pasta.”

“I anticipate your next offering,” he said, crossing muscled arms. “You are also a desirable bed partner with your great gift of cooking.”