Wings by Owens J. C

Author:Owens, J. C. [Owens, J. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Fantasy, Science Fiction
ISBN: 9781607374992
Publisher: Loose ID
Published: 2009-12-01T07:00:00+00:00

44

J. C. Owens

Those fingers trailed down his spine, circling in the hollow just above his buttocks; then

Anyar froze utterly as hands stroked downward and explored every curve and hollow. He closed

his eyes tightly as fingers parted his buttocks, and he could feel the avid eyes like fire upon his

skin. He could not control a shudder of revulsion at this intimate exposure, and his breath failed

entirely as a finger touched his opening, the first touch of another there.

His entire body tensed, protested silently, as he awaited the invasion, but to his surprise,

the finger merely traced over the surface and then retreated, continuing down his thighs lightly.

He sighed at the utter relief he felt at this momentary reprieve. The hands traced upward

again and began to knead his back right where the pain was worst from his hard landing.

He yelped, then gradually eased as the talented touch worked into the muscles, forcing

them to unknot, unclench. He could not prevent a huff of relief escaping his lips when the knots

finally gave way and there was only a tingling sensation, utter bliss.

That same relaxation disappeared the moment Vanyae told him to turn onto his back,

though he knew he would feel safer that way. After all, slaves were taken on their knees—

weren't they?

He folded his wings, then rolled over. He refused to meet his captor's eyes even when

Vanyae leaned over him, his tongue coming out to lick Anyar's lips, then force its way into his

mouth, sweeping the inside, touching every part of him, claiming.

Anyar stayed limp, unresponsive. He may have to do this, but damned if he would give the

bastard the slightest satisfaction of a response.

Vanyae did not seem to demand one. He did not seem angered by Anyar's defiance; he

simply continued with his light touches and kisses, gradually moving his hands down until he

grasped Anyar's limp shaft.

He began to press and squeeze, rubbing his thumb deeply at the base. To Anyar's horror,

his shaft began to harden despite his utter disgust at the situation, and in his innocence, he could

not conceive of the reason. He did not think of it being an automatic response of the body; he

only saw it as some sickness in himself that he could respond in such a manner to this man, his

captor.

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