No Limits

by Nicki Bennett

  “Shit, Devon,” Jonathan hissed, waiting until he had his breathing under control again before opening his eyes. He couldn’t resist glancing down to see the purple trail hardening on his reddened cock. “Fuck, that feels—” He shook his head, not finding words to describe the heady amalgam of pain and arousal. Taking a deep breath, he looked back at Devon. “More?”

  “Stop me if it gets to be too much,” Devon instructed, adding to the wax already decorating Jonathan’s cock. When the drops became a solid line, he paused again, looking down to check how Jonathan was feeling. His eyes were closed, his face tense with anticipation but not clenched in pain. “Turn over,” he directed, wanting to decorate Jonathan’s arse the same way he’d done his cock.

  It took Devon’s words a moment to filter through the haze of sensation Jonathan was drifting in. When he realized what Devon was asking, he hummed an acknowledgment, pushing onto one elbow before rolling on his hip and settling back on the table on his stomach, all without opening his eyes. The wax flexed and tugged at him as he moved, as if dozens of tiny fingers were teasing his skin. A shiver ran through him, and he tried to find a position he could relax in, leaning on his forearms to leave enough space so his now fully hardened cock wasn’t crushed beneath him.

  In this position he couldn’t see what Devon was going to do next, and that added another dimension to the anticipation. His hips shifted restlessly, the head of his cock brushing the tabletop, its coating of wax muting the sensation. Jonathan moaned quietly, the muscles of his ass tightening as the heat in his blood grew to a throbbing pulse of need.

  Devon ran his tongue swiftly up Jonathan’s crack, tasting sweat and Jonathan’s unique flavor. Using one hand to part the rounded cheeks, he contemplated his next move.

  Chapter 11: Peep Show

  HAVING SPENT the previous day and evening in London, Kit had found himself facing the prospect of going clubbing with the Orkneys for the rest of the weekend. Given that the alternative was coming home to Jonathan and Devon, it hadn’t been much of a choice. He walked into Devon’s house through the back door, dropped his bag in the kitchen, and went in search of his lovers. He reached the threshold of the living room and froze, arrested by the sight of Jonathan spread out on the table, Devon leaning over him, candle in hand.

  Desire swamped him as he took in the scene: Jonathan’s wiry body completely bare and open to anything Devon wanted, Devon still clothed casually, suggesting they had not planned this, but rather that it had developed spontaneously. As always when Jonathan was subbing, Kit was torn between the desire to be in his place, his pleasure totally dependent on Devon’s whim, and the desire to be in Devon’s place, with complete mastery over Jonathan. They were so perfectly matched, his two lovers, in age, in life experience, in size. Sometimes he wondered what they saw in a kid like him. It was subtle, the way they treated him differently, as if he was fragile. He thought they’d figured out that his scoliosis didn’t slow him down anymore, that if anything, it had made him stronger than he looked, but maybe not. Kit stepped back into the kitchen so he could watch without being seen, wanting to know how the scene would play out without him. He wanted to see them together without him there, to know if the differences were all in his imagination.

  Jonathan drew another of the deep, regular breaths that helped him keep from squirming in impatience. Trust Devon, he told himself, repeating the words with each inhalation, releasing tension with each exhalation, the mantra and the breathing settling him, freeing him from the constant noise of thoughts in his head and letting him simply be in the moment, simply feel. His skin prickled with awareness, as if unseen eyes were watching him. Admiring him. Hoping Devon was enjoying the picture he presented, he let the pride go too, offering everything he was to Devon in silent acquiescence to his lover’s desires.

  Devon could practically see the stages Jonathan passed through as he settled into his headspace, and he flushed with pride again that this magnificent man trusted him enough to submit to him. Tracing a finger down the curve of Jonathan’s spine, he noted the involuntary tightening and flex of his arse muscles. “So responsive,” he murmured, dipping a fingertip into the liquid wax pooled around the candlewick and on a whim tracing a small heart on one firm cheek. “So beautiful.”

  Kit shivered as he watched them, both from the idea of the hot wax on tender skin and from the tenderness in the gesture and Devon’s voice. Then Devon’s hand lifted and tilted, and a bit of wax splattered across Jonathan’s arse. Jonathan’s hips rose in response, his breath catching. Kit couldn’t stop the reflexive wince even as Jonathan moaned, clearly asking for more. Despite his immediate reaction, though, Kit’s cock swelled as he watched. He could certainly see the allure from Devon’s point of view, though he couldn’t quite imagine it from Jonathan’s.

  Frowning as the next splash of wax trickled down the crease between Jonathan’s cheeks, Devon set the candle on the side table. He’d been careful to hold the flame high enough that the wax had time to cool slightly before hitting Jonathan’s skin, but he wouldn’t take the chance of an accidental spill burning tender flesh. Jonathan’s head turned, either at the sound or the loss of Devon’s attentions, and Devon took a moment to reassure him.

  “I’m still here, Jon.” Devon slid a finger up the shadowed cleft, tantalizing even as it confirmed the spill hadn’t hurt more than it was meant to. “Going to get something from the toy box—I’ll be right back.”

  Jonathan swallowed a moan at the erotic possibilities of Devon’s statement. He thought he’d kept still enough that he didn’t need to be restrained, and positioned as he was, a blindfold would serve little purpose. His nerves still quivering at Devon’s brief caress, he clenched his muscles against the pinch of the cooling wax. His body ached for Devon to fill him, to claim him, but he’d learned enough of his lover’s temperament to sense it was too soon for that. Maybe a plug, he thought hopefully—even that stretch would be welcome, as hot as he was already from this new game.

  Kit held his breath as he waited to see what Devon would bring back downstairs from the wooden chest, all the while acknowledging the care the Dom was clearly taking to make sure Jonathan wasn’t hurt. He reminded himself again that Devon had promised to take care of them when they played these games. His self-protective instincts still warred with that trust, though, when Devon chose painful ways to push their limits.

  Kit wondered what Devon was looking for. He couldn’t tell if Jonathan was wearing his cock ring, but putting it on now would surely be painful. The nipple clamps weren’t really an option, either—they’d bite into the wood of the table rather than hanging loose to tantalize the sensitive points. Kit’s mind raced, cataloging the other items he’d seen on the few occasions he’d glanced inside the toy box, but he hadn’t even considered the small paintbrush Devon returned with. He could feel a frown creasing his forehead as he wondered what Devon intended to do.

  Jonathan’s anticipation flared when Devon’s hands returned to spread his cheeks, and he willed himself to relax his guardian muscle. Instead of the blunt silicon head of a plug or the cool glide of lube, though, he felt the faintest, gentlest tickle, too soft even to be Devon’s fingertip. The surprised muscle trembled, and he fought not to whimper in disappointment.

  “You like that?” Devon’s voice was smoky with lust and a trace of underlying humor.

  “What—what is it?” Jonathan asked, his own voice cracking at a repeat of the teasing caress.

  “Paintbrush,” Devon murmured, trailing the bristles up the vertebrae of his lover’s spine. “Your calling Lancelot an artist made me think of it. This will give me more control over how I decorate you.”

  Jonathan was more than willing to give Devon complete control, but it was hard to find his voice as he sank deeper into the space where the only thing that mattered was pleasing his lover. He hummed his agreement, following Devon’s movements through touch alone as his eyelids fell closed again.

  After dipping the tip of the brush in the
melted well of the candle, Devon tested the temperature on his inner wrist. Satisfied it wasn’t hot enough to cause undue pain, he loaded the bristles with more wax and drizzled a path across the plane of Jonathan’s back. The trail reached a fading yellowed bruise on Jonathan’s hip, bringing a frown to Devon’s face. “Don’t like having marks on your body I didn’t put there,” he murmured, covering the contusion with darker purple wax. “Even if you did look absolutely fuckable the day Bob gave it to you.”

  Kit stifled a moan. He was pretty sure he knew exactly the day Devon was talking about. The two of them had arrived at Jonathan’s trailer after a day of filming, expecting to find their King Arthur ready to head home with them. Instead they’d found him outside, shirtless and covered in sweat, his torn jeans hugging tightly to the curves of his lower body as he practiced a new sword routine with the weapons master. They’d waited and watched for over an hour as Jonathan worked to memorize the intricate choreography of the battle. And when he was done and they finally got him home, their usually laid-back lover was as ferocious as Kit had ever seen him, taking control of their lovemaking as he rarely did, leaving Kit and Devon both in a panting heap when they were done. Kit shivered at the thought, wondering what it would take to provoke that side of Jonathan again. It was definitely an experience he’d be willing to repeat!

  The prickle crawling down his skin made Jonathan shiver even as his cock tightened at the memory of the day Devon was referring to. He seldom felt driven to take a dominant role in their lovemaking; following the lead of his more experienced lovers was mind-blowing in itself. That afternoon, though, fired by the thrill of finally mastering the battle sequence and landing a hit on Bob for the first time, Jonathan couldn’t get enough of either Devon or Kit. He’d taken them both, claimed them both, marking their bodies with sweat and dirt and come. Not for the first time, he gave silent thanks for lovers who understood him better than he did himself, who knew when he needed to take and when he needed to give. Right now, he needed exactly what Devon was offering. If only Kit were here too—Jonathan stopped that line of thought before it could continue. He wouldn’t diminish his time with Devon thinking about their missing lover—and besides, there were things he’d been reading about, tempted to try, that he’d kept silent about, knowing they’d cross the line of Kit’s comfort. Maybe this weekend he’d find the courage to ask.

  Devon’s voice was a warm rasp in Jonathan’s ear, startling him. “Still with me?” his Dom asked, tasting the skin behind the whorled lobe.

  “Mmnnn,” Jonathan hummed, struggling for words. “Yeah. Want you.”

  “Not yet,” Devon answered, as Jonathan had known he would. He lowered his head in acceptance and waited.

  Devon skimmed the bristles over Jonathan’s back, leaving the droplets in some places, dragging over the skin to broaden the line in others. Smiling at the way Jonathan arched up to meet the brush, he dipped up more wax and added to the abstract design, spiraling lower to mark his lover’s taut buttocks. It would be a pure pleasure to spread those arsecheeks when he was ready to give Jonathan the fucking they both ached for!

  Kit’s body hummed in response, almost as if the bristles were tickling his skin instead of Jonathan’s. He imagined he could feel them brush down his back, over his arse. He wasn’t sure he wanted to feel the burn of the candle wax, although it didn’t seem to bother Jonathan, but he longed to know what the soft bristles would do to his skin. He almost stepped forward, almost asked if he could join them, but he didn’t want to intrude. He knew Devon; everything that came out of the toy box went back in. He’d get his chance with the brush, and maybe he’d work up the courage to let Devon paint him too. Jonathan was obviously enjoying the heat of the wax. Kit could feel the weight of his nerves holding him back, and he chafed against their restrictions. He either trusted Devon or he didn’t. Despite saying that he did, he wondered now just how far that trust truly extended. He was going to have to work on that.

  “I wish you could see yourself,” Devon murmured, swirling the brush around the tattoo nestled at the base of Jonathan’s spine, just above the swell of his buttocks. Dropping to one knee, he blew gently over the reddened skin and then ran his tongue across the inked mark, setting the candle aside and gripping Jonathan’s hips when the other man trembled. Sliding his lips lower, Devon nuzzled the dimple that topped Jonathan’s musky crease, careful not to break the wax as he parted the embellished globes. “Next time I’ll plan better, have more colors ready,” he added, his words ghosting over the sensitive skin, even there streaked with droplets of rich purple.

  “Oh fuck, Devon,” Jonathan groaned, his lover’s warm breath raising goose bumps and making him clench with desire. His mind’s eye could visualize the picture he made, and he let himself imagine decorating Kit and Devon’s bodies the same way. He’d be sure to have his camera ready on that day. Devon’s tongue, hot and wet, dragged down his cleft, and he moaned again, unashamedly. “Fuck me,” he pleaded. “Need you, babe, need to feel you.”

  Kit slid his hand beneath the waistband of his jeans, stroking his cock in time to Jonathan’s pleading. He shouldn’t have been so turned on just from watching them, but this was ten times—hell, a hundred times—better than watching porn. These were his lovers in front of him, providing him with a far more intimate, erotic show than anything he’d ever seen on screen. He wanted to see this played out. And then, when they were done, he’d join them and let them provide him with the same relief they were giving each other. He’d have earned it for his patience!

  Devon wanted nothing more than to give in to Jonathan’s plea, but as he slid his hand beneath the waist of his track pants to grip his cock, still sticky from his earlier climax, another impulse struck him, equally strong. He pushed the damp cloth down his hips with his free hand, rose to his feet, and kicked it aside, his fist encircling his resurgent erection. “Wanna mark you,” he husked, his hand shuttling over his swelling flesh. His eyes met Jonathan’s when the other man twisted his head to watch him, a silent request for his lover to understand why he needed this.

  Nothing else could have overridden Jonathan’s desperate need to feel Devon stretching him, filling him—but the image of Devon’s white come spattering over the purple wax was so compelling that Jonathan’s cock surged hard against his belly. He worked a hand down his torso to grip the base of his shaft, squeezing the way Devon had taught him to keep himself from coming. “You owe me,” he rasped, watching Devon’s face as his lover stroked himself roughly, using the power of his words to drive him even higher. “Come on me, Devon. Mark me. Paint me with your cream.”

  The image Jonathan conjured with his words was so compelling that Kit had to fight not to come as well, forcing himself to release his throbbing erection and biting the heel of his hand hard to keep from groaning aloud and spoiling the moment. Just a little longer, he told himself. He could hold on long enough to let them finish before joining them for the second round. He’d figured out long ago that he enjoyed being watched. He was beginning to think watching was just as much of a turn-on. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hard without someone else’s hands on him.

  Devon locked eyes with Jonathan’s, his lover’s sinfully hoarse voice urging him on. He wasn’t going to be able to hold back much longer, despite having come once already. He dragged his thumb over the head of his cock, twisting as he palmed the shaft, and his bollocks pulled up tight where he cupped them in his other hand. “Anything,” he promised raggedly, “give you anything you want—everything I’ve got—ah, Christ—coming—Jonathan!”

  The splash of Devon’s climax felt nearly as hot as the wax where it sprayed over Jonathan’s ass and up his back, thick white droplets pooling in hollows and weaving through the hardened purple trails. Fighting the urge to fist himself to his own release, Jonathan let his head fall to the tabletop, panting through the shudders that wracked him at each spurt of Devon’s come hitting his skin.

  As soon as his vision had cleared an
d his cock released its last drops, Devon fell to his knees beside the table, burrowing his fingers into Jonathan’s shaggy hair to turn his head and claim his lips in a fierce, almost feral kiss. His tongue invaded Jonathan’s mouth, fucking him as he’d begged to be fucked, shaken by the strength of his emotions at the gift Jonathan had given him.

  Jonathan opened willingly to Devon’s lips, leaning his weight on one elbow to clutch the back of Devon’s head and drag him closer, meeting his tongue with equal hunger and the full force of his own unsatisfied need. Only the insistent throb of blood in his cock finally forced him to break the kiss, drawing air back into his lungs in deep, shaking gasps.

  “You owe me,” Jonathan reminded Devon, not because he was keeping score, but because a part of him was afraid, still—afraid to admit the desire that had fascinated him until it had become something of an obsession, afraid Devon might refuse. “Anything—anything I want—”

  “Anything,” Devon agreed, hesitating at the uneasy expression in Jonathan’s changeable eyes. “You don’t need my promise to ask for anything you want. You know that, don’t you, Jon?” His brows rose as a faint hint of red tinged his lover’s cheeks. “Jon? What the fuck do you want me to do to you?”

  Chapter 12: Hurts So Good

  KIT HAD taken a step forward, eager to join his lovers and get some relief for his aching erection, when he heard Devon’s question. He didn’t have any more idea than Devon what Jonathan might want, but something in Devon’s voice alerted him that the request might be out of the ordinary. He hesitated, wanting to hear what Jonathan would say. He suspected the two held back sometimes out of consideration for his stated aversion to pain. Certainly, he wouldn’t have gone along with having hot candle wax poured or painted on his skin. Jonathan and Devon thought they were alone, free to indulge their rougher tastes without him holding them back. While he was sure they would welcome him with open arms if he made his presence known, he was also fairly sure, given the tone of the conversation, that Jonathan would stifle his request or temper it to fit Kit’s tastes. And that wouldn’t be fair to them. Drifting back into the shadows, he waited for Jonathan’s reply.