Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina-Chapter 141: Mark

Dean’s smile was pure, unadulterated sin. He didn’t hesitate. He walked across the space between them in a few long, confident strides, his movements fluid and graceful. He was shameless in his nakedness, his body pulsing with a heat that was no longer pre-heat but active, burning desire. He accepted Arion’s offered hand, his grip firm.

Arion yanked, and Dean came along, straddling his lap in one fluid motion. He rested his weight on Arion’s thighs, the rough fabric of his trousers offering a delightful friction against his sensitive, slick skin. Dean’s knees braced Arion’s hips, and his hands reached up to rest on the prince’s shoulders. He was taller, but here, seated on Arion’s lap, Arion was the one who looked up at him and wielded the power. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through Dean’s veins.

"Better?" Dean murmured, his voice a low, husky whisper. He rolled his hips, a slow, experimental grind that made them both gasp. He could feel the hard, thick line of Arion’s cock trapped beneath the layers of clothing, and he wanted it. He wanted it with a desperation that bordered on violence.

Arion’s answer was to slide one hand up Dean’s back, his fingers tracing his spine before tangling in his hair. He used the grip to pull Dean’s head to the side, revealing his throat. He leaned in and took a deep, shuddering breath that was pure possession.

"You smell like you’re ready to be bred," Arion growled against his skin, his voice a raw, primal thing.

Dean shivered, his body arching. "I am."

With a low groan, Arion’s mouth descended. He kissed Dean’s throat, his tongue tracing the frantic beat of his pulse. He licked a path down to Dean’s chest, his other hand cupping the back of Dean’s neck.

Then his mouth found Dean’s nipple.

Dean cried out, his voice sharp and shocked. Arion’s lips closed around the tight bud, his tongue flicking over it before he sucked. Hard. Dean fisted his hands in Arion’s hair, his hips rocking forward involuntarily. The wet, sucking sounds of Arion’s mouth filled the quiet room.

Arion growled his approval, the vibration humming against Dean’s skin. He released the nipple, only to bite down gently before moving to the other one, giving it the same thorough, torturous care.

While his mouth was busy, his other hand began to move.

It slid down Dean’s back, over the curve of his ass, his fingers dipping into the slick cleft. Dean’s breath hitched.

Arion’s fingers traced his rim, collecting wetness and circling the tight hole with maddening pressure. The soft, wet sounds of his fingers moving through Dean’s slick were obscene.

"Please," Dean gasped, his head falling back. "Arion, please."

Arion pulled back, his lips swollen. He looked up at Dean, his eyes burning. "Please what?"

"Touch me," Dean begged, his hips rolling, trying to force Arion’s fingers inside. "Fuck me. Do something."

Arion’s smile was slow and wicked. "As you wish."

He pushed one thick finger inside Dean’s body, slow and relentless. Dean’s breath hitched, his body clamping down. The burn was incredible. Arion worked the finger deeper, the wet sounds of his movements growing louder as he added more slick. He added a second finger, and Dean’s vision blurred. The wet, squelching sound of Arion’s fingers scissoring inside him was like heady, dirty music.

"God, yes," Dean moaned, pushing back. "More."

Arion obliged, adding a third finger. He curled them, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, and stroked. Dean saw stars, a broken sob escaping his lips. His body trembled, his cock leaking onto Arion’s suit.

"You’re so tight," Arion murmured, his voice thick with lust. "And so fucking wet for me." He pumped his fingers in and out, the rhythmic, wet sounds filling the air. "You’re going to feel so good around my cock."

Dean was lost. He could feel the orgasm building, a tight coil in his gut.

"Arion," he gasped. "I’m going to..."

"No," Arion commanded, his voice sharp. He pulled his fingers free. The sudden emptiness made Dean cry out in protest. The wet sound of his withdrawal barely reached Dean’s heady mind.

Arion’s gaze was hot and possessive. "Not yet. You don’t get to come until I’m inside you."

"How cruel of a man that was willing to do anything I said just days ago," Dean said, hinting at the night they masturbated each other, the night Arion used suppressants to dim his own rut.

The words hit Arion like a physical blow. The possessive heat in his eyes darkened. A low, dangerous sound rumbled in his chest. His eyes, once gold, were now murky gold, and feral, the irises expanded like a predator’s.

Before Dean could react, Arion moved.

He wrenched him up, his grip iron, and threw him with brutal force. Dean’s back hit the low, polished table in front of the sofa with a loud crack of splintering wood. The impact knocked the air from his lungs.

Arion followed him down, his body a crushing force. He kicked Dean’s legs apart, his knee shoving between Dean’s thighs. Arion’s hands tore at his own trousers, the sound of ripping fabric and a desperate zipper echoing in the room.

"You wanted to see me lose it?" Arion snarled, his voice a raw, ragged thing next to Dean’s ear. He fisted his cock, thick and hard, aligning it with Dean’s entrance. "You wanted to see the beast?"

He didn’t wait. He drove into Dean’s body in one, merciless thrust.

Dean screamed. The table groaned beneath them. The wet, messy sound of his body being forced open was obscene.

Arion didn’t give him a second to adjust. He established a punishing rhythm, his hips snapping forward with enough force to move the table across the floor with each thrust. The room was filled with the rhythmic, wet slap of skin on skin, the harsh creak of splintering wood, and their guttural sounds.

"This is what you wanted!" Arion snarled. He was fucking Dean like he wanted to erase the memory of his own submission by burying himself so deep in Dean that nothing else existed. "This is what you provoked!"

"Yes!" Dean cried out, his hands scrabbling for a grip on the table’s edge; the pleasure was more than his body asked. God, yes! Harder! Fuck me like you mean it!"

Arion grabbed Dean’s hips, his grip bruising, and slammed into him again. He was an animal, lost to instinct. He leaned down, his teeth sinking into Dean’s shoulder, a hard, possessive bite meant to leave a scar.

Dean cried out, his body convulsing, his cock trapped painfully between his stomach and the wood. He was being used, claimed, and ruined, and he loved every second of it.

Arion’s rhythm grew erratic, his thrusts becoming harder, more desperate. The hand on Dean’s hip tightened, his fingers digging into the flesh. He leaned down, his hot, ragged breath ghosting over the back of Dean’s neck.

Dean arched his back, tilting his head to the side, exposing the sensitive, throbbing gland at his nape.

Arion’s response was a guttural, possessive snarl.

He sank his teeth into Dean’s scent gland.

The sharp, piercing pain that went straight to Dean’s cock. The sensation was a white-hot jolt that froze his entire body.

Arion’s thrust, which was driving into him with brutal force, suddenly stalled. The base of his cock swelled, pushing the rim of Dean’s hole to an unattainable, burning limit.

Dean gasped, his hands tightening against the table’s edge, his knuckles white.

His orgasm ripped through him, violent and all-consuming. His body seized, arching off the table. He came hard, thick ropes of release painting his stomach and the ruined wood beneath him. The wet, messy sounds of their sex were drowned out by his hoarse cries and the splintering crack of the table giving way under the strain.

Arion grunted against Dean’s neck as Dean’s body convulsed and clenched around his swelling knot.

The rhythmic, milking pulses of Dean’s orgasm sent him over the edge. He drove his knot in one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go, and came.

A hot, powerful flood filled Dean, a deep, visceral claiming that seemed to last forever. His body shuddered violently with each pulse, his teeth still locked deep in Dean’s flesh.