Philippe crossed to the bed and stared down at Deantmore. He noted the fabric strips across his nose, the splint on his left wrist, and the bandage peeking out from the edges of the back of the man’s head. Seeing the sling his right arm was in and remembering the fight, Philippe bet he’d broken the elf’s collarbone, too.
I can start there if he’ll let me.
“I’m not sure I want to see you right now,” Deantmore growled.
Philippe lifted his gaze and peered into the elf’s left dark eye, the only one that was open. “I only wish to help.” He forced a smile, hoping it didn’t appear too strained. “I can fix what I’ve broken.”
Deantmore’s left eye narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
Feeling the elf’s distrust, Philippe worked to keep his indignant irritation from getting out of control. He didn’t deserve Deantmore’s trust, and he knew it. “I did this to you, and I’d like to offer my services to fix it.” At the man’s skeptical look, he sighed. “We discussed how I have angel and daemon blood in me as well as human,” Philippe reminded softly. “A being such as myself is known as a darkling, Deantmore.” He hesitated an instant, then added, “Some of us have…abilities. Healing abilities. Have you heard of an Angel’s Kiss?”
His jaw sagging open, Deantmore just stared at him for a few seconds. He snapped his mouth shut, then muttered, “Are you saying you have enough angel blood in you to perform an Angel’s Kiss?”
“I am, and I can,” Philippe confirmed. He hesitated an instant, then asked, “I need to know what you’ve heard about the Angel’s Kiss.” Grimacing, he added, “And I need permission.”
Deantmore appeared confused. “An Angel’s Kiss heals the recipient. Whatever ails them is…cleared away.” Obviously remembering some tidbit, his face took on a pinkish hue. “Uh, it’s supposed to be intimate and pleasurable. You know, uh, to cover the pain.”
Philippe nodded slowly. “When whoever named Angel’s Kiss, they did mean kiss,” he admitted, eyeing the elf. Deciding blunt would have to work best, he stated, “Most times, an angel will do it during sex, but I am Kalylle’s lover. I will not be having sex with you. I can give you the tingles of pleasure, the stimulation, that will hide the pain and make your cock harder than you’ve ever experienced, but you will have to get off yourself. Do you understand?”
He prayed that would be enough to appease any of Kalylle’s possessive tendencies. They’d never actually talked about them. Of course, Philippe hadn’t discussed his ability to perform a Kiss, either. It really had just never come up.
Not like he doesn’t have his secrets.
Sometimes, secrets were necessary.
“You’re Kalylle’s lover?” Deantmore actually grinned widely at that. “Seven hells, I knew there was something between you. Yeah, do whatever Kiss you need to do, so I can get well and give him a hard time about it.”
Philippe straightened, a low growl rumbling from him. “You would give him a hard time about being my lover?” he snarled, righteous anger surging through him, the feeling so very different than that of daemonic rage. “Why? Because I’m a man? Or because I’m daemon spawn?”
Shit! I’m supposed to remain calm.
Philippe sucked in a harsh breath, trying to purge his unexpected ire.
“Ha! Not at all,” Deantmore responded, suddenly sounding warm and sincere. “I’ve known Kalylle for over fifty years. I’ve been telling him to find someone for decades.” He lifted his good hand and pointed it at Philippe. “And I’ll have you know that I warned him away from Cerina. My sister she may be, but she was never a good fit for him. Personalities just not right and all that.” Hissing, he lowered his hand. “Hurts.”
“That’s because I cracked your collarbone,” Philippe murmured, his sudden irritation dissipating just as quickly as it’d risen. “Keep your arm down. I’ll take care of that first.”
Deantmore grunted as he nodded. “Right.”
Sweeping his gaze over Deantmore’s lean form, Philippe focused on the blanket covering his waist. “I’m going to push the blanket down to your thighs,” he told the man, even as he put action to deed. He grabbed the blanket and shoved it halfway down the elf’s thighs. “Do you want me to open your leggings,” he asked, focusing on Deantmore’s suddenly red-tinted cheeks. “Or can you do it one handed once I mend your collarbone?”
“Uh, m-my leggings?”
Philippe nodded slowly as he settled on the side of the bed. “Normally, with injuries such as yours, I’d fuck you, Deantmore,” he revealed huskily. While he wouldn’t have normally entertained the idea of being intimate with the elf, just a few moons before, to heal the man he would have done just that. “I told you it’s an intimate process. A sexual process. You will get off on it. Why do you think it’s so rare and so coveted?”
“D-Didn’t realize it went that far,” Deantmore mumbled, his cheeks a rosy hue. “I can, uh, once you heal my collarbone.”
“Fair enough,” Philippe murmured. “Now, lie still.”
Resting most of his weight on his left hand, Philippe leaned over the elf. He brought his lips a hairsbreadth from the man’s and paused, bringing his right hand up and resting it lightly on the elf’s collarbone. Then he breathed out before he sealed his lips over the other man’s.
Deantmore moaned under him, but Philippe knew the sound to be one of shocked pleasure. He felt the sensations, too, like fiery pinpricks that caused his skin to tingle and blood to heat in the best possible way. He centered his focus on the elf’s collarbone, mending the cracked bone.
Almost immediately, Philippe felt more than saw Deantmore reach for his leggings. His own shaft throbbed, begging for friction, so he knew what the elf planned…to grab his dick. Philippe desperately wanted to do the same—seven hells, I want to straddle the man and rut to completion. Instead, he used the shame he felt at the damage he’d done to the man—who was only trying to help them—to control the urge. Philippe focused on healing the elf as swiftly as possible because while his body swelled with pleasure and arousal, he also felt his daemonic urge to roll the man over, open his own leggings, and drive his throbbing shaft into the man.
Need to work fast.
With inner turmoil riding him fast and hard, Philippe sent another wave of healing energy through Deantmore’s body. After moving his hand from the elf’s torso to the bed, he slid the other down Deantmore’s opposite arm, tracing lightly along the splint. The man he healed groaned and shuddered beneath him, obviously reveling in the sensations that overrode the pain of his mending arm.
Philippe lifted his head a little, panting softly. He peered down at the elf he healed, taking in his handiwork. A glance down his body showed that Deantmore had his leggings open and his dick in his hand. He jacked his long, slender length in quick strokes, swiping his thumb over his leaking cap to massage in his pre-cum or to perhaps use it as slick.
Yanking his gaze away from the pretty sight, a sight that only made his daemon urge him to fuck him even more, Philippe returned his focus to Deantmore’s face. It didn’t really help, since the man had his head tipped back in bliss. Sweeping his gaze over the bandage on Deantmore’s nose, he cradled the man’s head in his hands and lowered his mouth again.
One last push.
Philippe breathed into the man’s mouth again and moaned softly. His own body vibrated with need as he struggled to focus on healing the man’s nose and the gouge in the back of his head. He’d just managed to finish, his head fuzzy with healing energy, when Deantmore groaned roughly and shuddered in his grip.
The bittersweet scent of seed flooded the room. Smelling the elf’s cum, hearing his impassioned cries, Philippe groaned. He jerked away from the elf, tumbling off the bed. His hip slammed into the corner of the chair on his way down, and pain erupted through his side.
Resting on his hands and knees, Philippe latched onto that feeling and used it to gain a slim measure of control. He panted harshly, shuddering as his daemon’s rage buffeted his senses. He
felt an almost undeniable urge to find the nearest weapon and destroy all the healing he’d just completed.
“Seven hells,” Deantmore whispered. “That was amazing.”
Philippe closed his eyes and just breathed. His body felt tortured, confused, conflicted. His swollen shaft ached, throbbing and twitching behind the restrictive fabric of his leggings. He curled his hands into fists as he fought off his daemon’s rage.
“You okay?”
Deantmore’s voice sounded lethargic, as one should sound after a great orgasm. He also sounded closer.
“Philippe?” Deantmore sounded wary…and closer still.
“Don’t touch me,” Philippe hissed. “J-Just give me a second.” It took every ounce of control to focus on his pain and discomfort and beat back the rage. Even talking was difficult and moving was out of the question because he didn’t know how much control he’d have if he did. “I-It enrages the daemon in me to heal,” he admitted. “I-I need to leave. I need—”
Kalylle. I need Kalylle.
With that realization, Philippe lunged to his feet. Without sparing Deantmore a glance, and between one stride and the next, he slipped into the Innerworld. While he heard the elf shout, he ignored it in favor of moving into the next room. He reappeared in Kalylle’s chamber.
Philippe noted Kalylle still slept. As he stalked toward the bed, he opened his leggings and allowed them to slide down his body. He kicked them off just as he reached his sleeping lover. Pulling back the covers, he peered down at his wizard’s clothes, quickly deciding the best way to remove the tunic and leggings from the man.
“Philippe?”
Lifting his gaze to Kalylle’s face, Philippe saw his lover’s pale blue eyes peering up at him. His thin white-blond brows were furrowed on his narrow features, and concern radiated from him. He swept his gaze over Philippe’s face searchingly.
“H-How are you feeling?” Kalylle asked, his tone uncertain.
Philippe knew what his wizard asked. “I-I need,” he admitted hoarsely. “I need…you.”
Kalylle’s eyes widened, then he jerked a nod. “Right,” he mumbled, half sitting up and grabbing the hem of his tunic. He whipped it over his head, then untied the laces on his leggings before shoving them down and off, too. Next, he peered around the room, grimacing, before meeting Philippe’s gaze. “Shit. Oil?”
Kicking himself for forgetting such a necessary step, Philippe rose from the bed. “I saw your saddlebags over here,” he stated, crossing to the foot of the bed and grabbing them from where they’d been resting against the footboard leg. “Which one?”
Holding out his hand, Kalylle pushed from the bed. “Here.”
Philippe handed the bags to the wizard. His hands flexed at his side as he watched his naked lover rummage through one of the satchels. Goose bumps broke out on his arms as he admired the man’s toned form and firm ass. His dick twitched, a bead of pre-cum oozing from him as his lust swelled within him.
As soon as Kalylle pulled out the vial, Philippe grabbed both it and the saddlebags from him. He ignored his lover’s surprised cry in favor of dropping the saddlebags back to the floor. At the same time, he popped the cork with his thumb. Then he grabbed Kalylle’s shoulder and shoved him, bending him over the bed.
Pouring oil on his dick, Philippe slid his other hand from Kalylle’s shoulder and down his spine. “Stay still,” he warned gruffly, fighting for patience. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Kalylle reached back and gripped his ass cheeks, pulling them apart. “Pour a little oil on me and push in, Philippe,” he urged. “Take what you need.”
If Kalylle’s words hadn’t been so damn close to his inner daemon’s prodding, Philippe would have done just that. Take, take, take. Instead, after he’d poured oil onto his lover’s dusky-brown hole, he set the jar on the chest at the foot of the bed. He used his now free hand to jack himself once, twice, shivering as he spread the slick fluid he’d dripped onto his dick.
Releasing himself, Philippe placed his fingers against Kalylle’s ring and pushed. He dipped first one finger in, watching it sink into the man. Groaning, knowing he was pushing himself dangerously close to losing it, he pulled his finger out and pressed in two. He crooked them, searching. When Kalylle moaned and shuddered from his attentions, Philippe huffed a relieved breath.
Philippe pulled his fingers free, gripped the base of his prick, and pressed his cock’s head to his lover’s hole. Thrusting forward, he watched his cap pop past Kalylle’s ring of muscle. He grunted when his wizard’s hot, slick channel clamped down on him. Beyond control, he continued pushing, entranced at the sight of his shaft stretching his lover’s ring.
When Philippe felt his balls press against Kalylle’s ass, he forced himself to still. He draped over his lover, sliding his arms under him. Palming his wizard’s chest with one hand, he cradled his neck with the other. Sighing, he nibbled the man’s nape as he breathed in the man’s scent.
“W-What are you doing?” Kalylle murmured, turning his head to peer over his shoulder. “I thought that you needed to take me.”
Philippe lifted his head just enough so he could meet Kalylle’s gaze. He took in the concern, the confusion in his blue eyes. The desire to soothe the man in his arms swelled through him, so intense and so much more important than fucking and finding his pleasure. Smiling down at him, he shook his head.
“No, my wizard,” Philippe rumbled throatily. “Not taking you. Giving you.” Remembering the gash on his forehead and the bruising around his neck, he added, “Giving you pleasure.” His heart pounded as he prepared to heal Kalylle. His cock twitched in the man’s channel. “An Angel’s Kiss.”
As Philippe spoke, he adjusted his hold on Kalylle’s neck and used his fingertips to tip the wizard’s chin up. It was awkward and sloppy, but Philippe managed to seal his lips over his lover’s. He breathed out, filling the wizard with healing energy.
Tingles spread from his mouth, filling his head and spreading down his neck. He swallowed Kalylle’s moan. From years of experience, he knew what he felt was mirrored in the recipient of the kiss with the addition of a bit of pain if bones had to be moved or aligned before healing.
That wasn’t the case with his wizard.
Philippe knew all Kalylle felt was ecstasy…and probably a slight itch as his scalp healed. Lifting his head, he peered into his lover’s dazed expression. He reveled in the knowledge that he’d put that look there.
Unable to hold off any longer, Philippe slowly withdrew his shaft. As soon as he felt the swollen head of his cock tug at Kalylle’s muscled ring, he reversed direction and thrust back into him. He picked up his pace, realizing his control was shot. When Kalylle arched and grunted, Philippe decided his lover didn’t mind one little bit.
Tightening his arms, Philippe held Kalylle’s back to his chest. He picked up his pace, faster and faster. He rutted into his wizard, sinking into the man’s tight tunnel over and over as swiftly as possible. Pressing his forehead against the nape of Kalylle’s neck, he moved a hand down from his lover’s neck so that he could grasp his shaft.
Philippe found Kalylle’s hand already there. Knocking the wizard’s hand away, he snarled, “Mine,” as he wrapped his own fingers around it. Kalylle groaned and shuddered in his grip as he stripped his man’s dick.
“Philippe!” Kalylle cried, bringing his hands up and gripping the comforter. He used his hold to shove back into each of Philippe’s ruts. “Yessss! Missed this.”
Philippe had, too. When Canto had joined them, they hadn’t been able to fuck quite like they had the first several days. The quick fumbling handjobs they’d exchanged when they’d found a moment alone hadn’t been nearly as satisfying, even if it had kept Philippe’s daemon mostly appeased.
At least, Philippe had thought it had…until he’d lost all control in the dining room.
Banishing that thought from his mind, Philippe admitted, “As have I.” He managed to speed up his movements just a smidge as he felt his balls tighte
n and tingle. “Come for me,” he urged. “Do it, Kalylle. Come on my cock.”
Kalylle groaned and froze, doing just that as if wired to obey Philippe’s command. His chute muscles tightened spastically, relaxing and contracting. Philippe buried himself deep and froze, relishing the bliss-inducing sensations pulsing through his dick.
Philippe’s orgasm washed over him like a tidal wave. His testicles pulled tight, forcing his seed deep into Kalylle in ball-tingling spurts. He stilled, blanketing his lover as ecstasy coursed through him. For the first time in days, he felt…relaxed.
Knowing he couldn’t stay like that forever—although that sounded like a damn good idea to him—Philippe eased his softening prick from Kalylle’s channel. The move earned him a grunt from his wizard, so he rubbed his hands up and down his sides. After pressing one more kiss to his nape, Philippe straightened.
“Let me get you a cloth,” Philippe murmured, easing away from him. He took a couple of seconds to rub up and down his lover’s spine as he urged, “Just relax.”
Turning away, Philippe went to the side table and poured some water from the pitcher into a basin. He dipped part of the hand towel into the water, then rung it out. After cleaning up his groin, he wet another corner of the cloth and rung it out. That, he took back to his lover.
Kalylle had turned, so he rested on his left hip on the mattress. Philippe stopped before his lover, leaned over him, and pressed a kiss to his lips. At the same time, he reached around the man and slid the cloth over his wizard’s ass, pushing into his crack.
Lifting his right arm, Kalylle gripped Philippe’s upper arm and pushed lightly. He ended the kiss and put a little space between their mouths.
That didn’t stop Philippe from continuing to wipe down his lover. “Just relax, and let me do this for you.” Philippe swept his gaze over Kalylle searchingly. “You’ve already helped me so damn much, Kalylle. Let me take care of my lover in another way.”
The Darkling's Kiss: Part Two: The Daemon Unleashed (The Daemon's Descendants Book 2) Page 11
