Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina Chapter 156: My Part

Arion bent and pressed a soft kiss near Dean’s temple again, which was deeply manipulative and, annoyingly, still effective.

Dean scowled harder because his body had once again failed to support the correct emotional response.

"Now," Arion asked shalessly, "would you give my part?"

Dean stared at him in disbelief.

"The fact that you can say that," he said flatly, "while looming over like a beautifully dressed extortionist is exactly why I don’t trust you."

Arion’s mouth curved. "You already agreed."

"I agreed under intellectual duress."

"You agreed."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You’re insufferable."

"Yes."

The worst thing was that he said it without smugness, which sohow made it worse. Just calm, shaless certainty, like he had already accepted that he was impossible and saw no reason to apologize for it.

Dean glared at him for another second, then looked away first because Arion was too close and too clearly still aroused, and Dean’s body had apparently chosen treason as a lifestyle.

"You are enjoying this too much," he muttered.

Arion’s hand moved once over Dean’s side through the blanket, light enough to be soothing if Dean had any intention whatsoever of being soothed. "You got the na."

"Yes, and now my life is worse."

"That doesn’t sound related."

"It is completely related. I now have to live with the knowledge that Nero is suffering over Sebastian while you sit here trying to collect your reward like so kind of very elegant criminal."

Arion lowered his head, mouth brushing once near Dean’s cheekbone. "That sounds accurate."

Dean went still for half a beat, then looked at him in naked offense. "You are not allowed to be this honest and this seductive at the sa ti."

"I can separate them."

"You absolutely cannot."

That earned him the faintest flicker of amusent.

Dean exhaled with theatrical suffering and let his head fall back against the pillows again. "Fine."

Arion did not move. "Fine, what?"

Dean turned his head slowly and looked at him. "Do not make repeat myself while you’re looking like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you’ve already won."

—

Dean should have known better; Arion’s concept of gentle sex was far from his. The room was thick with the sll of his pheromones, so strong the ventilation system was probably working overti.

Arion’s hands were gentle as he positioned Dean on his side, lifting one of Dean’s legs to drape over his own hip. The angle opened him up completely. The heavy scent of calming pheromones made Dean’s muscles relax and his mind go fuzzy.

He felt the blunt head of Arion’s cock press against his entrance. Dean’s body, still sore and sensitive from before, gave in easily. The stretch was a deep, insistent ache as Arion slid in, inch by thick inch. His gaze was fixed on Dean’s face, watching for any sign of pain or real discomfort.

The sensation of being slowly filled, of that thick length pushing deeper and deeper, was overwhelming. The pheromones, the physical fullness, and the mory of the previous hours all combined to form a single, intense point of pressure deep within him.

Just as Arion’s hips t his ass, as he was buried to the hilt, that pressure beca too much. Dean’s body seized, a choked gasp tearing from his throat. His orgasm hit him without warning, a sharp, violent convulsion. His cock, trapped between his stomach and the blankets pulsed and spilled, a hot, wet ss spreading across his skin.

Arion went utterly still, his eyes widening slightly as he felt Dean’s body clench and spasm around him.

"Did you...?" Arion asked with a low, dark chuckle.

Dean’s face burned with a humiliation so intense it was almost a new form of arousal. He couldn’t answer. He could only lie there, panting, his body still quivering with the aftershocks, his own release cooling and sticky on his stomach.

Arion’s chuckle deepened into a low, possessive growl. He shifted his hips slightly, which made Dean gasp as his oversensitive body was stimulated from within. The feeling of Dean’s clenching, pulsing heat around his still-hard cock was clearly driving him wild.

"Look at you," Arion murmured, his voice a rough, sinful thing right next to Dean’s ear. He leaned down, his breath hot against Dean’s flushed cheek. "So desperate for it you can’t even wait for to start moving."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the smug satisfaction in Arion’s voice. It was useless. His entire body was a live wire, and every word Arion spoke sent a fresh jolt through him.

"Don’t... don’t sound so pleased about it," Dean managed to gasp out, his voice shaky and weak.

Arion’s answer was to pull back slowly, almost withdrawing completely, leaving Dean feeling achingly empty for a split second before he drove back in, one long, deliberate stroke that buried him to the hilt again. Dean cried out, his back arching, his hands fisting in the sheets.

"Oh, I am pleased," Arion growled. He set a slow rhythm, each thrust a deep, grinding slide that rubbed against every sensitized nerve. "I’m very pleased. My oga is so eager he cos on the first thrust. Just from the feeling of my cock inside him."

"You are unbearable when smug," Dean said between gasps.

Arion’s growl softened into a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through Dean’s chest. He slowed his pace even further, the deep, grinding slides becoming long, languid strokes. The aggressive edge in his movents had vanished, leaving behind a thorough, possessive tenderness that was sohow more overwhelming.

"Maybe," Arion murmured, his voice losing its sharp edge. He leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive skin behind Dean’s ear. "But you like it."

Dean wanted to argue, to snap back with a witty retort, but the words dissolved into a soft moan as Arion’s hips rolled in a slow circle. The gentle movent was a form of torture in and of itself, putting constant, deep pressure on his prostate while sending waves of pleasure through him. His body, sore and aching from the night before, was pliable in Arion’s hands, accepting the gentle rhythm with a deep, boneless satisfaction.

Arion’s hands, which had been gripping his hips, began to roam. They traced Dean’s sides, their thumbs stroking soothing circles across his skin. One hand slid up his chest, fingers lightly ghosting over a nipple before resting on his heart, as if to feel its frantic beat.

"Look at you," Arion said softly, his voice thick with emotion that went beyond smugness. He pressed a soft kiss to the spot just below the patch on Dean’s nape. "So beautiful like this. All mine."

Arion nuzzled Dean’s hair, his breath warm and steady against his scalp.

Dean could feel the tension coiling in Arion’s body, as his breathing beca ragged and his movents lost so of their precision. He was close. Arion’s hand slid down from Dean’s chest, wrapping around his spent cock.

"Arion," Dean breathed, his voice hoarse.

With a low, guttural groan, Arion thrust deep one last ti. His body shuddered, his arms tightening around Dean as his release pulsed into him. He collapsed against Dean’s back, burying his face in Dean’s neck crook.

They lay there for a long ti, their breathing slowly syncing. The room was quiet, the air thick with the scent of them.

Arion pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the patch on Dean’s nape.

"Now," he murmured, his voice a sleepy, contented rumble. "We’re even."