The Slave Palace: Wulf and Locke (Kingdom of Slaves Book 1) Page 18

  His palms touched Locke’s chest, feeling the silkiness of the shirt as he felt his way into an embrace. Locke seemed to adjust automatically as if knowing what Wulf wanted.

  As Locke’s arms came up and around him, Wulf inhaled the man’s crisp mix of scents: spice from his skin, a fresh desert rain scent from deodorant perhaps, and soap from his newly laundered clothes.

  Wulf wanted to breathe it in. Maybe forever.

  “I want to lie here like this,” Wulf whispered.

  The TV still played on mute, flickering its light into the room, but Wulf did not see it. All he saw was black silk, skin, the side of a neck, the lobe of an ear, brown curls of shining hair. And lips in front of him. Smiling.

  “That’s all right. We can lie here like this all night.”

  Wulf felt the unused muscles in his face form his own smile again. Of course Locke would say that. From the beginning, he had said and done everything to better ease Wulf into every facet of his new and alien life. Why would Locke rush things now?

  It seemed for hours they stayed like that.

  He must have dozed off, for when he opened his eyes it was dark outside.

  The city lights made the walls look burnished in blue and orange shadows. The TV had been turned off.

  Locke was sitting up in the bed, fiddling with his tablet. Wulf lay curled against him, warm and at ease, his forehead butted up against the side of Locke’s chest.

  It was an odd thing for Wulf to enjoy this touch. To crave it. He’d never had this sort of closeness with another before, not even his parents. He didn’t realize, until now, how starved he’d been.

  Wulf sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He had to pee.

  Locke said nothing, but continued to fiddle with his tablet.

  For some reason, Wulf no longer felt so naked in front of him. Maybe it was Locke’s continuous calm demeanor. Maybe it was how he spoke to Wulf, not as a lewd master like Malik was, but respectful, with genuine care.

  When Wulf came out of the bathroom, a steaming tray of food sat at the foot of the bed taking up almost the entire space.

  Locke was quietly serving up potato salad and green beans onto plates holding what looked like turkey sandwiches. He handed him a plate.

  Wulf started to take it and move to the chairs.

  “No. Stay here. Just relax.”

  “And eat in the bed?” Wulf asked cautiously.

  “Yes.”

  Wulf put a napkin in his lap and leaned back with the plate of food. It felt both decadent and provocative to have a meal in bed when he was not sick anymore.

  Locke put the TV on, but Wulf could not remember what they watched. Only that the food tasted wonderful, and that this haven of security and warmth which he was not used to included Locke.

  When they finished, Locke used his tablet to ring a slave to come take the dishes and tray away.

  The TV droned, but all Wulf could hear was the gentle breathing of the man beside him, and feel the warmth. He no longer wrestled with such a sense of shame. The new sensations of acceptance, safety and caring thrummed through him, obscuring all else.

  The idea that he could be well-fed, well taken care of, and never face hunger or cold or homelessness or a prison of iron bars amazed him. How heavy and tight his heart had been his whole life. This moment—the confessions, the nap and the meal—had opened him after he’d lived closed off in fear and hate for so long.

  Locke’s presence infiltrated everything—Wulf’s pores, his thoughts, his blood. Sitting next to him now, quiet, allowing his mind the freedom to wander, made his blood begin to burn.

  And he began to think thoughts he never imagined he would willingly think, especially after such a short time at the Palace.

  Please let Locke put his arm around me again.

  I want another massage.

  Will Locke allow me to learn to give a massage in return?

  What will it feel like to have his lips against mine… or on my cock?

  What will it feel like to have him take me, be inside me, holding me, moving back and forth?

  The capacity of the human body to feel so much so fast astounded him. His skin went from normal to hot in a matter of seconds. His thoughts alone enflamed him.

  The sheet, blanket and spread of the bed rested on his knees and thighs, covering him just enough to hide his arousal. Thankfully. It was like dealing with a restless fever, this sensation of desire, this waiting for yet another touch from the powerful man beside him.

  Wulf’s knees bent of their own will. The soles of his feet rubbed the bed sheet, dislodging the covers. Every breath he took seemed deeper, deeper. As if he could not get enough oxygen. His mind floated away on euphoric hopes and he could not explain it, and didn’t want to.

  The room, the TV, everything diminished until all that he knew to be real from one moment to the next was Locke and himself, side by side, breathing, being in a weird sense of togetherness.

  Locke said in his habitual quiet voice, “I can turn it off.”

  “What?” Wulf’s mind fogged on the statement.

  “The TV.”

  “Yes,” Wulf replied. Silence would be better.

  He didn’t know if something was wrong with him anymore. He couldn’t think. Rille was so far behind him in such a short time that it was still a shock to his system. He didn’t need to fight anymore. He didn’t need to plow into unseen enemy lines because it was right and for no other reason, personal or otherwise, without regard to his own well-being.

  But duty had called him all his life. He needed—no, wanted—to obey something or someone with mindless abandon. He was good at that. Thinking too much hurt him more than a punch to the gut or the graze of a bullet. More, even, than his collar set on high.

  And then there was his body, so hot and liquid in ways he’d never abandoned himself to. The scorching anticipation of something, his skin melting for it. For a touch. For Locke.

  “Yes,” Wulf said again. The TV was off and he didn’t know what question he was answering now.

  Locke turned to him. Gaze penetrating. Filling Wulf with more than just a look, but with his presence, with a possible future.

  The back of Wulf’s throat clenched and a small gush of air escaped him like a soft sound he had no control over.

  “There are only three things I will ever ask of you as my slave,” Locke said.

  Three things? Wulf wanted to hear what they were. But the way the muscles of Locke’s lips moved around the vowel sounds of the words, and the tiny bit of moisture glistening against his white teeth had Wulf drowning in a desire he couldn’t push away. Pink. Lips. And the shadow of a tongue.

  Wulf shivered and tried to concentrate.

  “Honesty. You must always tell me the truth when I ask you a question.”

  The words muffled again. Wulf tried to concentrate but his cock and his balls were heavier than words, shouting with a strain of need.

  “…obedience. I will ask your opinion on things, but I require…”

  Those words were lost, too. Obedience, did he say? Wulf didn’t care. He’d learn it later. Locke would be giving him private lessons from now on. There was lots of time.

  “…the third, trust in me. You cannot do the first two without trust. Trust is something more difficult than…”

  The sentence faded away but the lips still moved. Wulf watched that mouth, then moved his gaze to the throat where the skin was tanned and tight over the Adam’s apple and then lower, to the buttons of Locke’s black shirt.

  Those buttons strained against a strong chest, strong enough to be a force for Wulf’s needs. His eyes darted lower to the flat stomach, the thighs, the bulge between. To press, push… What was he thinking?

  “…understand?”

  Wulf blinked, and lifted his eyes. Locke had asked him a question.

  He found himself nodding although it was for his own purpose, for what he wanted now. Locke’s three things? Not an issue.

  Not now
.

  He wanted to kiss the man. And in this room, here in the Slave Palace, apparently it wasn’t a sin but a goal to be achieved. An act of pleasure wrapped in roles but given like a gift.

  But Wulf didn’t want to kiss Locke because he was the slave. He wanted to kiss him because Locke was Locke. And he wanted him. And if it was a gift to pursue the act, it was also a selfish gesture. For he wanted to feel it like a waking, like a blush of morning sun.

  He’d had so little of blushing and suns and selfishness in his life.

  Locke started to speak again.

  Wulf leaned in, then, not caring. The collar tugged at his neck. He didn’t mind it anymore. This was worth the risk, worth another kind of fight. His body ached as if to say, Please.

  Locke’s eyes widened, a dark but accepting shock within, and that was all Wulf saw before he was too close, before he smashed his lips to the other man’s mouth.

  It wasn’t a shy first kiss for him. But a rough taking, his mouth open and demanding before he could think, understand, or feel any shame. He was free for once, and he was going to embrace the lost-and-found essence of it.

  Wulf’s hands came up. He wasn’t conscious and yet he was more conscious than ever of all the things he wanted now, the way he felt and the way he wanted more.

  His fingers clenched tight to Locke’s upper arms, feeling the silk of his shirt scrape against his nails, the hard muscles underneath.

  If Locke pushed him away now, he had an idea that he would just grab again and again until the man stopped, until he grew tired and languid and accepting.

  But that didn’t happen. Locke was like a wall he was trying to climb, unyielding and hard with slippery surfaces where purchase was hard to obtain, but that wall turned to more level surfaces with dips and crevices.

  He felt Locke’s chest move as he gasped against Wulf’s mouth, and then the arms of his master came up and around him, a gentle pressure of hands on the backs of his shoulders.

  He was held. He was held and it was better than anything, better than food, a comfortable bed, or a well-oiled massage. Better than the best the world had never offered him.

  To be held. Embraced. Accepted.

  He felt his body come up from the bed and his knees go under him as he pushed himself further against Locke, clutching, kissing deeply now, tongue invading. To his amazement Locke went with him, toppling back, letting Wulf come over him, straddle him, press his entire naked length to him.

  Wulf was surprised that Locke let him. Then he wasn’t. For Locke had wanted him to embrace himself fully on this level, and that was exactly what he was doing.

  Locke’s mouth opened easily to him, relaxed and silken, and he tasted of the autumn outdoors, rich and wine-fed. Wulf wanted to engulf him.

  He was bigger than Locke, more heavily muscled, so he worried he might press too hard, or shove an elbow or knee where it wasn’t desired. But Locke seemed not to care, for his arms moved tighter about Wulf’s back, squeezing.

  He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t want to. He wanted more of this.

  One of Locke’s hands curved up until it rested alongside Wulf’s face, the fingers digging into his hair. He leaned into that touch, pulling back only enough for a breath, then diving in again.

  Locke turned his head and his hot breath dusted Wulf’s cheek, making Wulf’s whole face burn. Wulf made low noises in his throat, seeking more flavors and textures. He wanted, no, needed to be filled up with sensation.

  His mouth kissed the rough jaw-line where Locke’s evening shadow of a beard had started to appear. He let his tongue trace the spiced skin, feel the prickle of the hard hairs, and it fueled him as his mouth moved downward to the side of Locke’s neck.

  Wulf’s skin sizzled all over, but his cock was the hottest of all flames, a thing of pure hard need pulsing against the front of Locke’s trousers. Locke’s hand tore through Wulf’s hair until it cupped the back of his neck, and held him hard as Wulf sucked at the skin just below the jaw.

  He shouldn’t have known what he was doing. But he knew. What he’d seen the others doing as he glimpsed them in the training room, or on the video he could not finish watching which had spurred him whether he’d wanted it to or not.

  It wasn’t as if he didn’t know about sex and lust and the forbidden physical things men might do to each other. He did know from what children talked about, and what he’d picked up on the streets. And even from the careful classroom teachings on what was never ever done.

  You tell a child they can’t think of something because it is bad and they can’t help but think about it. Learn about it. It was how he knew he was gay. Simply, he had never been in a situation of unchecked desire. The knowledge lay dormant in him until now.

  Warm air in his ear. A whisper. “So. This.”

  Locke lifted his head up; Wulf’s mouth felt swollen, stinging just a little where Locke’s beard had pricked. He gulped. He kissed Locke lighter on the lips, close-mouthed this time, and pulled back so he could look into his eyes.

  Locke whispered close to his lips, “Our first real training session? Yes?”

  Wulf frowned at him. His breaths came fast, as if he were on the verge of sobbing. But it was ecstasy, not pain he felt. Not fear.

  “I don’t want to train right now. I want to feel more. More of what happened this afternoon.”

  Locke’s cheeks plumped with his smile. “Then feel. I give myself freely to you. Whatever you wish.”

  Whatever Wulf wished? A thrill washed through his body. He almost came from those simple words. The excitement made his lips stretch over his teeth. He wanted to moan, groan, maybe yell or howl. He was so uncontained in his wants, his craving for Locke. All of him, body, heart, words.

  What would it feel like? The heat of this man, the thrill, his tongue his mouth his hips his hands his cock inside him plunging jamming touching so deep?

  Air gusted from his lungs. Locke’s smile turned to a grin and both his hands came up and framed Wulf’s face.

  Wulf lunged for the kiss before Locke could take any control. His hands came between them and fumbled for the buttons of Locke’s thin black shirt.

  Finally, Locke caught a breath and said, “Priceless. You are priceless. Sweet angel, do not wait any longer.”

  He put his hands on his own shirt and helped to undo it, leaning up and shrugging out of it as Wulf attacked his belt, his zipper. Everything got taken off, pulled away, thrown to the floor in rustling heaps. Shirt. Shoes. Socks.

  When Wulf pulled at the dark trousers, Locke lifted himself and allowed the touch.

  Wulf’s fingernails scraped a taut waist and firm buttocks as he tugged, revealing more beautiful flesh light-toasted brown, the muscles ridged and corded now with the tension of his desire.

  The hipbones made beautiful rises on the skin, and it dented so perfectly on either side, the beginnings of a V, which would bottom out at the groin.

  Locke stayed taut but motionless as Wulf slid the trousers all the way, taking the underwear with them, yanking them off the feet one at a time, then tossing them hard to the floor.

  He wanted to burn this image into his eyes. How Locke lay back against the blue pillows fully aroused, his cock curved up toward his belly, the tip glimmering with sweet excitement.

  The musk of arousal was salty, ocean-sweet. Fascinated, Wulf dove for the stomach, licking, tasting the salt, then moving his head lower. He had to brush the tip of that cock. His tongue yearned.

  And then he was doing it, licking Locke where he never thought he’d ever lick another man. So forbidden. Against the law. A prison-bound offense.

  Lovely. So much like salted wine. An essence of something that sent shivers through Wulf’s body as he tasted and wanted more, wanted to drink.

  He was all animal now, sniffing, backing off because he wanted to see. More and more. He touched Locke’s cock, took it in his hand to feel the smoothness, the hardness, how it pulsed in his grip.

  Voice low and thick, Wulf heard himsel
f. “I want to see.”

  He couldn’t get enough. Now he licked the underside of the cock as he let it go and it smacked the flat abdomen. Hands on Locke’s hips, he said gruffly, “I want to see,” even as he was turning Locke.

  Locke relaxed, eyelids half closed, hands behind his head as if ready to sleep, as if hypnotized by this pure lust, rolled to accommodate.

  Locke’s buttocks were hard and round, but soft and warm to the touch with tiny pale hairs all over, pure maleness, pure elegance better even than the painted live sculptures outside.

  Wulf’s hands were on them, palms pressing, fingers squeezing, wrenching them apart to even hotter skin, to dark swirls of hair and a pucker, an opening, a mouth of darkness inviting. He lowered his head. He inhaled. He poked.

  Locke gave a small, muffled laugh. “There’s oil in the drawer.”

  “What?”

  Locke would allow this?

  “Take what you want. Use me. Examine me. Get your fill.”

  “But—you, I want you in me,” Wulf said, kneeling up, letting Locke roll again on the bed until their eyes could meet. “I want to know. I want to know everything!”

  Locke leaned up on his elbow. So nakedly exquisite—dark pink nipples erect, the ripple of ribs, the curlicue of the navel—that Wulf almost choked on the sensations that pulsed through him.

  “I guarantee that will happen.” Locke’s dark brows hunched low, eyes flashing.

  Wulf’s cock bobbed. His balls were so full he could not imagine they weren’t huge and ready to explode.

  Locke reached across more pillows, one knee bending, rocking forward, and opened a drawer by the bedside. He withdrew and waved a vial of oil.

  “Use this. And touch me all you wish.”

  Wulf grabbed for it, balancing with one hand on Locke’s hip. Their hands met and Locke wove his fingers with Wulf’s. The vial was trapped between their palms now, their gazes twined.

  Locke slid his hand away and Wulf gripped the bottle. He opened it and poured the liquid into his palm and slid it, without warning, up and down Locke’s erect cock.

  A hiss came from his master.

  Wulf stroked up again, thumbing the tip where he longed to place his mouth, then down and around the balls, cupping them. Further back, he explored and Locke opened his legs, slid up in the bed and grabbed a pillow.