The Beginning of Everything by Kristen Ashley Page 0,18
beginning to think you had to lick the arses of the entire rank of Go’En (and he’d done his fair share of arse licking, the kind he liked but mostly the kind he did not).
Now, after he’d waited so long, but with the worst possible timing, he’d finally been advanced to a Go’Ar, no longer in training, but not yet a high priest. And as such, sent on his first missionary assignment to the Fire City of Firenze, traveling through that realm to join his fellow priests there and take up his role.
This did not make him happy.
He did not like being away from his chosen one.
But in his travels, meeting this warrior with the bladed leather kilt at his hips, chest straps, forearm shields and mighty crossed broadswords at his back, he was beginning to rethink matters.
Especially when the colossal warrior unbuckled the strap at his chest and the broadswords fell with a heavy thud to the thick carpet that covered the sand and stone beneath their feet.
“Toga, via,” the warrior commanded, and Drey felt his rumbling voice, and his command, right through his arse.
His shaft was already hard and had been since before he entered the tent.
“I speak your language,” he shared in Firenzii.
“Then take your robe off,” the warrior stated in the same language.
With no delay Drey’s hands moved to his gilded belt even as a small niggle of guilt slunk into his head that he was not being faithful to his chosen one.
This niggle vanished as the leather blades of the kilt fell to the carpets and he saw what was straining against the tight leather trunks underneath.
His belt was gone, and his bleached robe hit the carpet about two seconds after, leaving him only in his sandals.
The warrior didn’t even look at him, which Drey did not like all that much.
The huge man moved around the posted mattress to a stand at the side of its head where he used his large hand to shove things aside. Jars, bottles, coins, wisps of parchment and other items Drey couldn’t make out fell to the floor before he seized on one small bottle.
With his back to Drey, he heard as the warrior uncorked it and he saw the movements of his powerful arms as he poured something into his hand.
He replaced the bottle to the stand and turned, perfunctorily shoving the front of his trunks under his cock and balls, his hard, enormous phallus springing forth, and Drey instantly forgave the warrior for not admiring his (if he did claim so himself) trim and slight, but rather handsome physique.
And as the warrior moved, he was stroking that phallus, coating it liberally with oil.
Thus, when he made it back to the end of the long, wide, fluffy pallet on its high stand, Drey decided to take things in hand, figuratively and literally.
He moved forward, reaching out, getting close, touching the warrior at his waist and rolling up on his toes to seek his mouth.
“No bocca,” the warrior grunted.
“Ma—” he started. But—
Suddenly, he found the back of his neck seized and his cry of surprise was truncated when he was thrown through the air, landing facedown on the bed.
He did not protest his new position when his hips were jerked up and back, so that his knees hit the edge of the shockingly downy mattress.
He was not ready for the penetration when it came. Certainly with no preamble. And definitely not with the sheer size of the shaft he was taking.
But Drey was as he was and this mattered not.
Indeed, he came up off his hands with a “Yes,” in order to ride that brute.
Only to be shoved down to the bed, face first, a strong hand again at the back of his neck, and he was the one being ridden.
Hard.
G’Drey could barely breathe with his face stuffed in the silk, but that only heightened his arousal. And when he again met his chosen one, he would introduce this to their play.
Unquestionably.
And it might be he’d find climax simply with the drives through his arse and the fire coursing through his system due to his need to breathe.
Eventually.
But right then, he needed a hand.
When the warrior didn’t offer one, Drey slid one toward himself.
He was close to his aching target when he took all of that big cock on a grunt from them both—the warrior’s, of effort, Drey’s, of pain—and then Drey’s hand was slapped away.