Page 81 of The Sixth Spring

He wasn’t sure, Will realized. That should’ve made Will wary, but his heart was tripping in his chest in anticipation. If Itori was willing to take the risk, then so was Will. This might be all he could have of him.

“Do it. I want–I want to be close to you,” Will said.

Itori leaned in and kissed him hard, one of his teeth pressing sharp into Will’s lip. The pain was brief. Will reached for Itori, grabbing his slippery hair, tangling his fingers in it.

When they came back up for air nearly a minute later, both of them were panting. Will smiled, couldn’t help himself. He watched Itori attempt one in return.

His belly was full of butterflies.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” Itori said. Then he pulled Will’s hips in that last little bit, and began to guide Will’s cock into his slit.

“Ah,” Will hissed at the first touch of searing heat. His hips bucked forward without thought. He slipped easily in, the slick lubricant Itori produced flooding out. Claws pricked into Will’s hips, and he shivered at the feeling of Itori’s panting breath against his neck. “Okay?” Will asked in a whisper of breath.

“Yes. It is just–I have never–” his claws flexed.

“Oh,” Will said. “Should we–we can stop–?”

But Itori’s hand on him was heavy, pulling him in.

“No, we–I–”

He’d never heard Itori so breathless, so caught up. They melded into one another until Will’s cock was fully seated inside, twitching against the impossible heat surrounding him. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before, Itori had rippling muscles inside, and they worked like waves, contracting around him in regular intervals.

“They said it was intense, I did not–I could not imagine–” Itori’s claws flexed again, like he was aware of how hard he was grabbing Will, and trying not to hurt him.

“Oh god, oh god,” Will moaned, trying to keep control of himself. His hips desperately wanted to move.

Itori made a crooning hiss that pricked the hair on the back of Will’s neck.

“I–I can feel you, all along…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Will panted. He looked down to see where they were joined. His cock was enveloped, and Itori’s was pressed between their bodies, extended and oozing wetness. It was obscene.

Will had touched inside Itori only once. He remembered feeling the length of him there, the ridges and the heat. The ridging was not just on his cock, Will now realized, but inside him, on the walls that lined the slit.

“Itori,” Will’s voice wavered. They’d barely started, but he felt precariously close to the edge. Being this intimate, it was overwhelming.

“Willowtree,” Itori sounded just as ruined. “You can move now–if you want to.”

Will’s hips complied immediately, pulling back to buck forward. Itori’s insides rippled again, clenching around him, and Itori made a sound Will had never heard before. It was a deep bellowing, like an animal surprised.

Will froze, but Itori was already urging his hips on. “Keep–keep going.”

Will grappled over scales, leaning closer to catch Itori’s slack mouth in a kiss.

They kissed hungrily as Will’s hips started a messy rhythm. They traded kisses until Will had to pull back to breathe, the taste of oranges on his tongue. He thought he would taste them forever there, bright and sweet and perfect.

Itori started sucking kisses down his throat, making small hiss sounds he couldn’t keep in.

Will rut faster, hips moving on their own. He could hear the slick mess, feel the throbbing of Itori’s sex. He moved faster, more desperate, driving in and in and in.

And Itori was right there with him. He was moving, panting, keeping Will going even when his sounds gave Will pause.

Will bowed his head, gasping for breath against Itori’s chest as he rode him, his end nearing. Itori tipped his own head against Will’s throat and nuzzled there, the sharp of his teeth skirting delicate skin.

Even that was electric, zipping down Will’s spine. He tilted his head, offering more of his throat. He remembered that first night, the way the bite had shocked through him. He’d been afraid for his life then, and he wondered what it would feel like now, to let Itori. To give himself over to it.

Words piled up on his tongue, promises that he knew he couldn’t make. The blood in his ears thundered, driving him on. He wanted, wanted–