The Druid Next Door Page 11

  “Yeah.” He took a deep breath and blew it out. “The Unseelie sphere. It’s— Shite, how do those people live like that?”

  “It bothered you? Really?” Bryce rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. “I’ve never felt anything like it. The sky, the earth, the trees. They could nearly talk. It was incredible.”

  A dimple quivered in Mal’s cheek. “Sometimes they do. In fact, sometimes they walk. And when that happens, running like the Cwn Annwn are on our arses won’t help for shite.”

  Bryce stared into those eyes, bluer than the wild iris that dotted the shoreline in spring. God. He’s gorgeous.

  Bryce blamed the adrenaline still coursing through him for what he did next. He knee-walked forward until Mal had to lean back or tacitly agree to their proximity.

  Mal’s smile widened. “Got something on your mind, mate?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Don’t hold back, then. Let’s hear about it.”

  Bryce advanced further until his mouth was a breath away from Mal’s. “How about this?”

  “I’m listening.” Mal’s voice was a suggestive growl, and Bryce’s cock responded as if it were a customized mating call.

  “I’m done talking.”

  “There’s a wonder. I thought—”

  Bryce closed the last half inch, shutting off Mal’s sarcasm by the simple expedient of fusing their mouths together.

  Goddess preserve me, but that mouth is a wonder. Mal threaded his good hand through Bryce’s hair so Bryce wouldn’t get any ideas about backing off. The weakness that had hit him all of a sudden in the Unseelie sphere ebbed as if Bryce were feeding energy back into him with every touch of his tongue. If this was what kissing a druid was like, Mal had been wasting his time in human clubs.

  Not that many druids were as hot as Bryce.

  Mal sank back on the grass, and Bryce followed until he was stretched out above Mal, the kiss going on and on as if they were vying for the tongue-jousting championship of the whole Seelie Court.

  Mal had been without sex for so long, longer than he’d gone since he’d first learned to wield the sword at his groin with the same skill as the sword in his hand. Whatever it was, his cock was on board with any plan Bryce had. Although . . .

  He tugged Bryce’s hair, pulling him back from the kiss—a crime if ever there was one. “You know, boyo, I suspect sex in public violates your precious neighborhood CCRs. Besides, we might traumatize the wildlife.”

  Bryce grinned, wolfish, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “The wildlife has less shame than you do—they copulate in public all the time. However, you have a point. My place or yours?”

  “Mine. I’ve got supplies.”

  “You think I don’t?”

  “Do you?”

  Bryce huffed a laugh. “No. At least not anything you’d let near your genitals, considering your reaction to the first aid soap.”

  “Right, then. Mine it is.”

  Bryce stood. “Give me your hand.”

  Ordinarily, Mal would have spurned the offer—he wasn’t completely helpless, and the inexplicable weakness that had overcome him in the Unseelie woods had dissipated. In fact, he felt better than he had in months.

  But he craved Bryce’s skin against his, so he clasped the offered hand and stood, stealing one last, heated kiss before leading Bryce up the hill and into his living room. He closed the doors, his back against the glass, and studied the man in front of him.

  “Take off the tactical gear, man. I don’t want those pruners anywhere near my bollocks when I take your arse.”

  Bryce raised one eyebrow. “What makes you think it’s my ass that’ll get taken?”

  The thread of confidence in Bryce’s voice made Mal’s cock throb in his pants. But I never bottom. Why did the idea of Bryce buried in his arse excite him to the point of coming like a stripling? Still, he’d learned never to tip his hand too soon. “No expectations. No strings. No—”

  “No clothes.”

  Bryce stripped off his vest and flung it across the room, where it caught on the mantelpiece. When he pulled his T-shirt off as well, Mal’s breath caught in his throat, for no reason that he could fathom. Bryce wasn’t his usual type. He went for club boys with a bit more spice than his brother-in-law: men with attitude but who appreciated his size and swordsman’s physique. Occasionally, he’d sparred with one of the other warriors in the bedroom as well as the practice ring, so he could admit appreciation for the kind of chest he sported himself.

  But Bryce was neither of those things. His muscles weren’t overdeveloped by centuries of sword practice and fae genetics, but they were there. Defined subtly under the smooth skin, across the taut stomach and in the chest like Roman marble. Beneath his navel, a trail of dark hair led down, pointing the way to where Mal was determined to go.

  He stepped forward, unthinking, reaching out with his right hand.

  “Shite.” He snatched his arm back, but before he could turn away, Bryce closed his long fingers over his wrist.

  “Stop. It’s okay.”

  “How can it be okay? You see this pathetic thing? How can you want it near you? I want to feel you with both hands. I can’t even strip you out of those gods-be-damned tactical pants.”

  “You don’t need to.” Bryce drew him forward, grip firm yet gentle on his right wrist, and laced the fingers of their other hands together. “We’ve got three working hands. Surely we can manage to get the job done.”

  Mal tried to muster up some of his standard bravado. “The handjob, you mean?”

  “I’m hoping for a little more, but we can start there. However . . .” His brown eyes held a wicked glint. “Who says hands have to be involved at all?”

  He released his hold, although his gaze stayed locked with Mal’s as if the arch-druid witch had tethered them there as well. He flicked the button on his own fly, teased down the zipper, barely a tooth at a time.

  Mal’s mouth watered, and his dick leaked in his pants. “Shite, man. Are you trying to kill me?” He reached out with his left hand and yanked the zipper all the way down.

  Bryce chuckled. “See? No problem here.” He tucked his fingers under the waistband, under his nontactical briefs (which were doing a piss-poor job of hiding an impressive bulge), and shucked them all the way down to his ankles. “Uh . . . here’s a problem. I forgot about the damn boots.”

  “Remember them later.” Mal dropped to his knees, because the sight of that cock—long, cut, leaking, gorgeous—was more than he could take. He’d thought the man’s chest was spectacular? His cock should be in a gods-be-damned shrine. And Mal would be first in line to be an acolyte.

  He engulfed the head in one gulp, moaning when Bryce’s flavor hit his tongue. Goddess, how he’d missed this. He’d forgotten. In his years—decades, centuries, millennia—as the prize being pursued by other men, he’d given blowjobs aplenty, but never like this. Never as the supplicant. Never with the desperation to feel the weight of Bryce’s cock on his tongue, in his throat, pinning him, owning him.

  What was that about?

  Who cared? He’d think about it later.

  Now he had other priorities. Namely drawing that groan out of Bryce again, the one that shivered all the way down his torso, vibrating Mal’s fingers where they grasped one of Bryce’s indecently cut hips.

  He hollowed his cheeks, keeping the suction perfect as he drew his mouth up the shaft, swirled his tongue around the bell, teased the slit until Bryce’s hands clenched in Mal’s hair, the tug just past the point of pain. Yes.

  “Wait.” Bryce was breathless, his voice strained. “Not yet.”

  Truly? If the man wanted to wait, Mal couldn’t be doing this properly. He sucked all the way down the shaft until the head lodged in his throat. His eyes watered with the unaccustomed sensation, his breath trapped by Bryce’s very presence as well as by his cock.

  Inconceivably, Bryce pulled Mal’s head away, sliding that delicious dick out of his mouth. Goddess, did I just whimper?
What in all the hells was the matter with him? And why didn’t he care?

  “Mal.” Bryce hunkered down awkwardly, his ankles still trapped by his pants. “As great as this is, I don’t want it to be over too quickly.”

  Mal eyed Bryce’s cock, straining, weeping, and nearly purple. “Your dick might disagree, mate. And I’m on its side.”

  Bryce chuckled. “Maybe. But I’ve learned never to listen when that head tries to argue logic with me. Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

  Mal stared Bryce’s cock in its single eye, then looked up into his face. His brow was bunched as if in pain—and judging by the way his balls were tucked against his body, Mal knew exactly where that pain was centered.

  But even with that pinch-browed grimace, his eyes were kind—too kind for anyone with Mal’s baggage. But, flaming abyss, he needed this. He’d save the man from himself later.

  “Yeah. Let’s.”

  Despite his aching cock and balls, Bryce found room in his brain for shame. How stupid not to take off his boots before trying to shed his pants. Served him right for trying to be sexy when he wasn’t—not like the man on his knees in front of him, lips still swollen from taking Bryce’s cock to the back of his throat.

  He bent down to unlace his boots, only to find that Mal had gotten there before him.

  “Brace your hands on my shoulders and lift your feet.”

  “Uh . . . right.” Problem with that position was that it put his cock right in Mal’s face again, and the damn thing was hard as granite. When Mal’s breath gusted across the head, Bryce had to grit his teeth to keep from thrusting his hips forward.

  Somehow, he managed to get his feet out of his boots without coming all over Mal’s face. Someday he’d have to write a paper on the effects of reciting the byproducts of animal decomposition as an abstinence tool.

  Mal chuckled. “Let me guess. Tactical socks?”

  “I—”

  “Never mind. Let’s just strip the gods-be-damned things off, shall we?”

  “Right.” Bryce kicked off his pants and briefs, while Mal, still on his knees and fully clothed, smirked at him. He managed to get his socks off with only one or two awkward hops, bracing himself on the mantelpiece and nearly knocking a heavy wooden box off onto his toes when his hand tangled in his vest.

  “Steady there, mate.” Mal rose with a controlled grace the exact inverse of Bryce’s awkwardness. “Don’t want you to hurt yourself.” He pushed the box back and slung the vest on top. “You still game?”

  Bryce glanced down at his cock, which seemed determined to bridge the distance between the two of them. “What do you think?”

  “Right, then. You remember where the bed is. Lead the way.”

  Bryce narrowed his eyes. “You’re the one who’s still dressed. You lead.”

  “What fun is that? You’ve nothing to hide from me now. Might as well let me enjoy the view.”

  Well, it was his funeral. Bryce marched down the short hallway, forcing his chin high as if parading naked through neighboring houses was standard operating procedure, Mal nearly on his heels. The bedroom was cool and dim, the blinds belling outward in the breeze, and the bed—

  The bed. This isn’t the first time you’ve been in that bed. With him. Naked.

  And therein lay the problem. He remembered exactly what Mal looked like naked: the sheer perfection of his body, nearly hairless except for a nest of dark curls at the base of his cock; chest broad and sculpted; biceps bulging and defined. He remembered the uncut cock too, and heat washed through his chest. He’d see it erect this time. What would it taste like? What would it feel like if Mal fucked him? His sexual experience was laughably small and had rarely extended that far, either top or bottom.

  Christ. Where was the damn adrenaline when he needed it? The least it could do was hang around long enough to make sure Bryce didn’t immolate himself with his own ineptitude.

  He hunched his shoulders, his knees pressed against the mattress, wondering how the hell he could escape before he embarrassed himself even further.

  Except he couldn’t escape, at least no farther than ten fucking feet away. Had his new mentor—master—whatever—known how she’d doomed him when she’d shackled him to the most gorgeous man to walk the earth or Faerie?

  “I can hear your mind whirring from here, boyo.” Mal’s hand stole across Bryce’s stomach, his bare chest warm against Bryce’s back. Shit. While he’d been freaking out over his own nakedness, he’d missed Mal removing his shirt.

  “I—I’m sorry.”

  “The only reason to be sorry is if you don’t plan on getting on that bed.”

  “You didn’t ask for this. I shouldn’t have jumped you outside.”

  “I didn’t fight you off. And, trust me, mate, even one-handed, I can still hold my own in a clinch.”

  “I know. You’re strong. And gorgeous. And incredible. And I’m completely devoid of any superlatives whatsoever.”

  “Are you now? I’d call you brave.”

  Bryce snorted, but then Mal kissed the back of his neck, and he nearly choked sucking in his breath. “I’m not.”

  “No? How about crazy, then, for drawing those berserker guards after us. On purpose.”

  “That was— I couldn’t let them hurt the trees.”

  “Crazy, definitely. Too soft-hearted for your own good, for someone forced to endure my company. Smart too.” He pressed a kiss between Bryce’s shoulder blades.

  “How can I be both crazy and smart?” His cock, which had started to flag, perked back up again.

  “Don’t know, but you manage. Besides, this is just a little sex, yeah? No need to get in a swivet.” Mal didn’t lift his lips from Bryce’s skin, and Bryce shivered. “Now turn around and let me kiss you properly.”

  Well, he’d been warned. Plus, he had a point. It was sex, nothing more. Since they were bound together for as long as Cassie deemed necessary, this counted as a definite perk. Later, they could always claim no harm, no foul. The druid made me do it—sure, that’ll fly. But if he were honest with himself, he needed no excuse other than that he wanted Mal so badly.

  He turned.

  His mouth dried because Mal was totally, gloriously naked. How had he peeled out of those leather pants without Bryce hearing? Who cared, not with all that skin on stellar display.

  God. Mal’s cock was every bit as incredible as Bryce had imagined. His knees buckled, and he reached for it, but Mal caught his elbow.

  “Not so fast, boyo. Didn’t you promise to plow my arse not ten minutes past?”

  “I—” Bryce swallowed, trying to scare up some saliva. “That was . . . I didn’t . . . You don’t have to—”

  “Oh, I know. But I want to.” Mal kissed him, a brush of lips and the tickle of the tip of his tongue against Bryce’s lower lip. “Don’t you?”

  God, yes. He nodded, and Mal sat on the edge of the bed, scooted back, and lay down, spreading his legs and drawing his knees up to expose himself fully.

  Bryce nearly came just from the sight, but that truly would have been humiliating—not to mention a waste of the most incredible opportunity he’d had in his life.

  “Supplies?” he croaked.

  Mal grinned and jerked his head in the direction of the nightstand. “Help yourself.”

  Mal had no idea why he was going through with this, now that Bryce’s little dom act had left the stage. He only knew he wanted it—not as much as getting his hand back, perhaps, but with a burn in his belly that made his multitude of past sexual encounters seem like nothing more than pissing in the wind.

  Bryce fumbled the lube out of the drawer. “I— Damn it, where are the condoms?”

  “Don’t need them, mate. I’m fae. You’re a druid. No human STDs for us.”

  Bryce’s eyes widened, his pupils so blown his eyes looked black. “I’ve never—”

  “But you like the idea.”

  Bryce’s gaze locked on Mal’s, and a slow grin spread over his face. Suddenly he looked less like
a tree-hugging professor and more like what he was: a druid about to accept a sacrifice. “I love the idea.”

  Mal shivered in anticipation as Bryce tossed the lube onto the duvet and knee-walked across the bed, pushing Mal’s legs down so he could straddle his waist. He leaned forward and captured Mal’s face in those huge hands, and Mal closed his eyes, fighting a groan.

  Bryce took Mal’s mouth in a bruising kiss, a fierce passion in the crush of his lips, the thrust of his tongue, the sure grip of his hands on Mal’s jaw. But Mal wanted more: to be taken, to be filled, to be owned.

  His head spun, so he opened his eyes. Bryce’s eyes were open too, black as a winter night, and Mal couldn’t look away—wanted never to look away. He opened his mouth as wide as he could and let Bryce fuck him with his tongue. Goddess, what I wouldn’t give to have his cock down my throat now. To swallow every bit of his essence. Take it into himself and keep it there, a part of him, forever.

  Wait. What? Mal had always avoided any kind of permanence like the Black Death.

  Later. Think about it later.

  He heard the snick of the lube bottle. Yes. Another way to prove he could take anything that Bryce had to give. Then Bryce’s fingers were there, circling his entrance, the lube cool and slick on his skin. One fingertip slipped in, then out again. In, then out, just the tip. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

  He tore his mouth away from Bryce’s intoxicating kiss. “More. I can take it.”

  Bryce’s lips, wet and swollen from their kisses, spread in a predatory smile. “Are you begging?”

  Mal swallowed against the surge of need that crested over him. “Yes,” he whispered. “If that’s what you want.”

  Bryce shook his head. “Not now.” He kissed Mal again, hard and merciless. “But soon,” he murmured against Mal’s lips. And shoved two fingers in to the first knuckle.

  Mal’s back arched, and he gasped. “Goddess, yes. More.”

  “Mal—”

  “You won’t hurt me. I’m fae, damn it. Fuck me. Fuck me now. Fuck me hard. I need to feel you spill inside me before I go fecking insane.”

  Bryce’s chest expanded on a huge breath, his nostrils flaring. Another squirt of the lube bottle, and his elbow pumped as he slicked his cock. Then he hooked Mal’s knees over his shoulders.