The Devil's Brew by Rhys Ford Page A

triangular scar on his palm where a raptor snagged him with its beak.
    The lube between them squeaked, a continuous rhythm punctuating the slap-slap of their bodies meeting. Clenching on Kane’s cock, Miki ground down on his lover, drawing out long groans with every twitch of his ass. Milking Kane on his downstrokes, Miki bit lightly on the thumb exploring his tongue, nibbling at its edges as he’d done to Kane’s cock head countless times before.
    “Fuck, you feel so good, Mick,” Kane mumbled. “Let go of me. I gotta hold you.”
    Miki reluctantly let Kane’s fingers slide from his mouth, taking one last taste of his lover’s flesh before Kane pulled free. The wet remained, and his spit was cool on his hot skin, a smear of damp against his hip where Kane laid his hand. His flesh beneath Kane’s grip gave slightly, and then the bruising bite of fingers digging into him promised Miki he’d not be able to sit down for breakfast whenever they finally rolled out of bed.
    If anything, Kane’s dick got bigger, because Miki found himself holding on to the bed and opening himself up for his lover to ride him through the morning.
    And ride him he did.
    Kane’s thrusts spiked through him, his engorged head smearing along the trail of nerves in Miki’s core. The first flicker of a climax hit Miki hard, and he bucked his hips up, his pleas garbled between guttural noises. Kane hit the spot again, then missed—either on purpose or simply to drive Miki insane.
    Insane didn’t even begin to explain how Miki felt when Kane picked up the pace and a river of sweat began to bead up on his spine. The salty musk of his skin touched his nose. Then it was washed away under the growing perfume of Kane’s body heat, mingling their scents together. He felt a drop of sweat from somewhere on Kane’s body strike him, a pinprick prophecy of what Kane had in store for him.
    “You. Feel. So. Damned. Good.” Kane grunted out his words between strokes, taking long pulls on Miki’s body. “Really good, love.”
    Miki lost any sense of Kane’s words as he spilled into Gaelic, a rush of music and sound the Morgan family called their native tongue. Most of it whispered past him, a rolling song, but he caught a few of the more familiar words—love, God, honey, and most off all, treasured heart.
    All spoken for Miki.
    It was the Gaelic that pushed him over. Those sinful, wicked weaves of sound, growled up from deep inside Kane’s soul. Miki didn’t even need to feel the hot, searing rush of Kane’s seed filling him. His body jerked and exploded, splattering his release over his belly and the bed. Currents strong enough to fill a dark sky with stars shattered over Miki, and he struggled to breathe past the shock. His lungs strained to grab at any air, and his legs shook, slammed time and time again by Kane’s heavier body.
    Kane released a moment later, his cock pumping endless amounts of liquid fire into Miki’s channel. The thunder of his orgasm rolled over Miki, threshing spasms strong enough to rock his spine. Grinding his hips in, Kane took shorter strokes and pushed his hands against Miki’s ass, forcing Miki to grip him tighter. Jerking back and forth, Kane lodged himself into Miki’s curve and emptied his load deep into Miki’s guts.
    Miki felt the rush break free of his body, the spent seed coursing down out of him. Kane cradled him, and they both ended up sideways on the duvet, Kane still pushed as deep into Miki as his softening cock would let him. They remained connected as the aftershocks of their sex rocked them, and Miki sighed heavily when Kane’s dick slipped out of him.
    “God, you wear me out. You’re sucking the youth right out of me,” Kane mumbled into the crook of Miki’s neck.
    “I can try to put some back into you.” He laughed when Kane murmured his consent. “I don’t want to move.”
    “Then don’t. We can just go to sleep.”
    “Can’t. I have the second stupid gift I got you to give you.”