“Same. Christ, I feel the same. I want the hurt, understand? I want you to mark me, make me sore. I need it. I want to feel used.”
Warwick’s cock leaked at what David had said. Warwick had longed to find a man who understood his need to dominate, to enjoy being used, and it seemed his destined mate was a perfect match.
He looked down at where his length rested in David’s arse crack. Pre-cum was leaking from the tip, lots of it, more than usual, and he wondered if it was a bonding thing, something that happened the first time with your mate. There was enough that he could smear it over the head, then it leaked again, a copious amount—so much that he slicked it all over his cock until it glistened.
His skin, stretched so tautly over previously unimaginable hardness, was hot on his palm, and he itched to have it surrounded by David’s tight hole, wanted it to suck him deep inside and clamp around him until he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
David widened his legs, and Warwick reached down with his pre-cum-lubed fingers to slide a couple into David. They went in easily, and David cried out, more a sound of pleasure than pain. Encouraged, Warwick worked the channel, loosening it while David pushed back, making Warwick’s fingers jam in with more force. Gripping the sink sides, David rode those fingers, grunting and moaning, his head bowed.
“Fuck, I want to come already,” David whispered.
Warwick was close himself, need careening through him at a staggering speed. He pulled his fingers out, taking time to caress the low-hanging balls, massaging them, feeling them swirling inside the sac. Then he positioned his cock at the opening, the pucker warm and enticing, and he held David steady by grasping his hips. Then Warwick surged inside, the movement swift and sharp, giving David what he’d asked for: hurt.
David cried out again, raising his head to tip it back. That hole squeezed Warwick’s cock, a vise so tight his balls swelled from the pressure. Excitement built to crazy levels, his head spinning and his heart hammering, nipples forming wickedly stiff nubs, as though they’d been tweaked and pulled. Warwick began pumping in and out, frenzied movements that wrenched at his dick as though doing as much as it could to draw cum out. Warwick’s whole body ached—the desire raging through him was possibly too great, and he willed his legs to hold him steady.
The glide in that slick hole was smooth, his natural lube seeping once again, creating a silky passage that he fucked and fucked and fucked, erection thickening and lengthening every second. He imagined David feeling so full he could burst, and Warwick’s arse spasmed as if longing to have David’s hard-on pummeling it. Abusing it. Wrecking it. The image of David inside him, going at it from behind, had Warwick grinding faster, harder.
“More,” David panted. “Fuck, I need more.”
Warwick understood David’s need. He wanted more himself, but there was no more to give, was there? It felt like that need was something else other than fucking, something they hadn’t experienced before but their bodies were urging them to find it, to know it.
Then things became clear via a visual appearing in Warwick’s head of him biting David’s shoulder. Warwick bent his head and licked the spot he intended to only nip, but his wolf had other ideas, and before he could stop himself, he’d sunk his teeth into the tender flesh. David yowled, the sound wolf-like and desperate, and he took one hand off the sink to claw at Warwick’s outer thigh. The scratches, the feeling of his skin being ripped at, had Warwick ramming into David harder. Each pull-out was slow and tortured and every shove-in was fast and firm.
Blood oozed onto his tongue, and a menagerie of memories infiltrated his mind. David’s. His mate’s feelings and emotions were there, too, everything that was David swarming into the nooks and crannies of Warwick, secret places he hadn’t realized existed inside his body until now. It seemed David had become part of him, right down to the last atom, their souls combined so tightly that nothing and no one could tear them apart.
He reached across and took hold of David’s cock, pumping it with as much force as he was giving to that greedy hole. Davis tipped his head back, and Warwick stopped biting, needing to be bitten himself. David must have heard the unasked question, and, with his back flush to Warwick’s chest, David turned his head and bit Warwick’s neck. It was a relatively gentle bite but enough to pierce the skin. The sensations it produced had Warwick working valiantly to reach orgasm, his shunts into David so fierce that David was momentarily lifted off the floor. David let up on the bite and licked Warwick’s neck, his earlobe, then kissed his jawline. Warwick claimed his mate’s lips, a kiss that seemed to go on forever, their tongues frantic and demanding. Chest tight, fibers throughout his body buzzing, Warwick experienced a second or two where he thought he’d pass out.
Then there it was, the tingle, the ripple of cum as it swirled out of his balls and into his root. He groaned into David’s mouth, shoved into his arse again and again, over and over, dick aching for release. Then he ended the kiss, mourning the loss of lips on lips but not trusting himself now—he might bite again.
He began coming, jerking David’s cock with a tight grip, and David’s own moan brought on shivers of bliss, pure ecstasy. He felt David’s cum barreling up his length, the pulse of it on his palm insistent and sexy, and each time Warwick’s load pumped out of him, David’s did the same, tandem shots.
Warwick’s orgasm was long, a drawn-out, emotional roller coaster that threatened to send him into a faint. It scared yet thrilled him, and he allowed his body to go with the flow, to do whatever it wanted, leaving his brain out of it. Still milking David’s cock, he whimpered along with his mate. Their wolves didn’t care about emotional overload—he sensed David’s wanted even more; more pleasure, more mind-numbing, toe-curling vibrations, which currently hummed through Warwick at breakneck speed. Sweat broke out on his forehead and, continuing to ram into David’s arse, Warwick had a brief moment where he wondered if this was ever going to stop, whether he’d die fucking.
He longed for it to continue as much as he wished it would end. It was too much yet not enough. Too full-on. He couldn’t keep up with what his wolf desired, his stamina wrecked, his leg muscles tiring.
At last his orgasm waned, the ferocious pulses petering out to nothing but faint, dull throbs. Aftershocks stabbed at his dick as he pulled out, and he let go of David’s cock, mindful his mate was feeling the same thing. David turned, pressing himself into Warwick, resting his cheek on his chest. Warwick kissed the top of David’s head and embraced him, hard and tight, never wanting to let him go. Or let him out of his sight. David sagged a bit, and although Warwick’s strength was weakened, he held his mate up, whispering, “I’ve got you. It’s okay, I’m here.”
That special moment lasted for a while, then David raised his head and looked Warwick in the eye. “It was perfect, wasn’t it?”
Warwick nodded. “The best. Let me wash you?”
Even though he was reluctant to release David, he moved away so David could switch the shower on. They stepped into the stall together, and Warwick took his time to smooth lemon-scented gel over David’s body, learning all the curves and dips, memorizing them so he’d never, ever forget how they felt beneath his hands. David returned the favor, and Warwick acknowledged that they were two people who acted like they’d never seen another human body before. Everything was a wonder, from the bulge of biceps to the protruding leg muscles. The pecs that weren’t starkly defined but close enough to be faintly visible. Bellies, not firm and not soft. And cocks, growing hard again, needy and hoping for more action. Warwick was spent, though, and it seemed David was, too, so their exploration continued until the water ran cold and the last of the bubbles disappeared down the drain.
Out of the shower, they shifted to heal their bite wounds, then shifted and dressed again. They made their way down to the kitchen, where David took a couple of Cokes from the fridge and handed a one to Warwick. They sat at the table and stared into each other’s eyes, David clutching Warwick’s hand, his fingers cold from havi
ng touched the chilled can. Contentment came for a visit, and it eased away all the exhaustion, leaving Warwick complete and ready to face whatever came next.
As David leaned his head on Warwick’s shoulder, Warwick sipped his drink and listened to the whispers of his mind. He’d expected them to say things about David and how his mate’s memories and feelings were now settled firmly inside Warwick, but there was none of that. What those whispers told him was what the crumpled sword actually was, when it would appear, and what they’d have to do with it.
He nodded absently to acknowledge the information, then spent the next hour happy in his mate’s company, neither of them saying a word. They didn’t need to. Warwick knew everything about him that he needed to know. And, warts and all, he adored his mate and knew he would until the end of their days.
Chapter Five
“So where is the sword, and what good is a crumpled one?” David asked, sitting up and making space between them. He didn’t expect the same sort of answer as he’d had before—he knew exactly where that sword was and what it was capable of.
Warwick stretched his arms above his head then made himself right at home by sticking the kettle on. David was amazed at how okay he was with that.
“High Ford Peak, apparently,” Warwick said.
David sat at the table. “What? A sword is on the hill? I doubt it very much. Not being funny, but in my lifetime I’ve walked every inch of it and have never seen a knife. Sword. Whatever. Unless it’s been put there recently?”
“It isn’t a sword.” Warwick blew air out, his cheeks puffing. “Believe it or not, it’s a flower.”
“Pardon?” He couldn’t have heard him right. Was there even a flower called a crumpled sword? There might well be, but he’d never heard of it.
“It only grows when the Hail occurs, or when a devil equivalent needs…removing, then it disappears. So the Angel said, anyway.” Warwick shrugged. “Who knows if that’s right, but we have to go up there and at least try to find it.”
David snorted. “And how is a flower going to kill a devil? Will a prick from any thorns on the stem make her bleed to death?” He laughed a tad hysterically—covering up the fear that was growing inside him, he reckoned. “Not likely.”
“We have to boil the petals. Make poison. Do you have a copper pan, because we’ll need one of those?”
“Luckily Mum used one, so yes, but poison? Like an ethereal being can drink?”
“She can make herself into whatever form she wants, she told me once,” Warwick said. “So yes, she’ll be able to drink it.”
That confused David, Idaline having the ability to take on a random form of her choosing, and he was under no illusion that his frown showed that. “If that’s the case, why didn’t she turn into a copy of Rachel and hurt me herself?”
“I suspect she didn’t because she likes playing with people’s emotions to pass the time, or maybe there are limits to her behavior and when she can change herself, who knows? I don’t understand her or anything much about the shifter underworld. The things she’s asked me to do have never made sense.” He recalled some bizarre requests from the past. “Like once, she told me to go outside and put a lump of jagged glass on the lawn so it would go into my dad’s foot. I didn’t do it, and she gave me hideous nightmares for weeks afterwards because I’d disobeyed her. But I did wonder why it was meant to be there, the glass—and what purpose she’d have for it to be there, why my dad needed to be put out of action, if that’s what she’d intended. Maybe, despite her threats to the contrary, she can’t hurt anyone and has to get other people to do it for her. Now that makes sense.”
David nodded. “It does. So if we go by that assumption, that she can’t hurt us, we have nothing to be afraid of.”
“But we do. She could have enlisted someone else to take you out. But for all she knows, I could be here doing exactly what she wants—she might not be able to watch us really, just makes out she can. Then again, she might well be able to see us and is just playing with me, seeing if I do her bidding anyway despite us being fated mates. Waiting for me to finally cave in after all these years of ignoring her requests. She’s mean. Loves torturing the mind.”
“Sounds like it. So how do we draw her out, make her adopt a human shape so she drinks the poison?”
And how do we know whether she is watching right now and can hear what we’re planning?
“The Angel told me if I don’t do what she wants and kill you, she’ll appear as a human this time. It’s vital to the underworld that you’re not here anymore. Alive, I mean. The Objective states you have great things in your future and shifters need you, and what you do will interfere with underworld plans. Something like that, anyway.”
“The Angel is a bit free with my private information, don’t you think?”
“I don’t generally question the good, only the bad.”
“To be honest, this is doing my nut in.” David scratched his head. “We should go out there and find the flower, get this over and done with. If I have time to think about it all, I’ll scare myself to death. It would save her a job, then.” He had to laugh about it, see the funny side, otherwise he’d possibly cry, and he’d done enough of that lately since his parents’ deaths.
And that was another unanswered question. How had Idaline managed to murder them? Had she visited one of them in their dreams and forced one to kill the other, then kill themselves? The idea of that was so sad he couldn’t entertain it. Whatever his parents had been, however they’d treated him, David still cared about them. They hadn’t deserved to be taken out.
While he’d been pondering, Warwick had made coffee and put it in two small Thermos flasks he’d found in one of the cupboards—going straight to that cupboard with no trouble at all. David surmised Warwick knew where the flasks were because of their bond, David’s knowledge and memories being inside Warwick. Perhaps something like that would happen to David if he were in Warwick’s domain—he’d know where things were instinctively. So far, he didn’t feel much different to what he usually did and worried the bond hadn’t taken him like it had Warwick.
No point thinking about that now, although thought-speech would be good during our mission.
With the afternoon disappearing at quite a clip, he and Warwick ought to get going. David took one of the flasks, nodding his thanks, then led the way out of the cabin, closing the back door behind him. Warwick walked by his side through the rear garden, the sun still pretty hot and glaring down on them. By the time they’d ambled through the woods and had reached the base of High Ford Peak, sweat coated his brow and back.
“Any idea what this flower looks like?” he asked, swiping his forehead with the back of his wrist.
“I’ll know it when I see it.” Warwick began the climb. “And I suspect it’ll be right at the top. Nothing is ever easy in instances like this, is it?”
“No, it isn’t.”
Halfway up, David had to stop, his leg muscles aching, seeing as he’d been up the hill once already today. Without the shade from the trees, it was unmercifully hot, and he hadn’t eaten so was a bit lightheaded. He drank some coffee to fill his stomach while Warwick turned to survey the view.
“You don’t realize how big the lake is until you see it from up here, do you,” Warwick said. “It’s beautiful.”
David also faced the lake. “I used to think so. That it was beautiful. Now it’s just a watery grave to me. Something to be feared. I had to force myself to look at it this morning—to accept it holds my whole family and there seems to be no way of finding them down there.”
“I feel your pain.” Warwick rested a hand on David’s forearm. “And I feel your guilt—but you have nothing to be remorseful about. Rachel wasn’t your fault. Yes, you set the boat off, but your intentions had been good—to get her away from you before she hurt you badly. Or killed you. The fact that her fall swerved the boat…well, you couldn’t have predicted that. And remember, you were six. Just a kid.”
Davi
d tried to shut out the memory of what had happened next but he failed. “When the boat hit the crag…” He shuddered and shut his eyes. The images were still there, burned into the insides of his eyelids.
“I know. That must have been hard to watch. Frightening, too, for such a small boy.” Warwick tightened his grip.
“It was. She launched out of the boat, landed on the crag, and the way her head smacked into the rock…” He opened his eyes, and wouldn’t you know it, his gaze landed on the exact crag Rachel had crashed into. “She rolled into the water and…”
“You swam over there then tried to find her. I see it.” Warwick took his hand away and drank from his Thermos. “Maybe they’re not even down there beneath the water now. You ever considered that?”
David felt lost without Warwick’s touch. “Where else would they be?”
“Held somewhere in the underworld?”
David frowned again. Planted his temple on Warwick’s shoulder, needing the connection. Sighed in exasperation. It was all so bewildering.
“They’d have their souls, their earthly forms, remember. And maybe they want to stop them from joining the Angels? I don’t rightly know.”
“There’s so much we don’t know. Me especially. I’m relying on you to tell me information. I’d have thought I’d know everything you do by now, but the bond doesn’t seem to be working for me like it is for you.” David had almost added ‘story of my life’ but stopped himself. It wasn’t fair to lumber Warwick with a pessimistic arsehole for a mate.
But I didn’t lumber him. It was preordained. Hopefully we’ll be good for each other. Hopefully he’ll iron out my many faults and give me a better outlook on life. Make me stop seeing the bad side of everything.
“You might have a mental block,” Warwick said. “Don’t forget, I’ve had time to get used to the idea of mating with you. It was dumped on you from a great height. And I’ll try to make you stop seeing the bad side of things—yeah, I actually heard that thought, by the way, and it startled the crap out of me, to be honest—but you are who you are. There’s only so much another person can change in you. The rest has to come from yourself.”
The Crumpled Sword Page 4
