Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Yet when the chime warned him of the elevator approaching, he was on his feet in an instant, heart crashing against his ribs—and he had to physically restrain himself as the elevator doors opened, admitting Amani into the apartment. That flowing poise carried him forward as if gliding, as he stepped out of the elevator.
And stars trailed in his wake, snaking over the floor in liquid rivers.
That was how it looked at first glance, when underneath his coat he wore a belted caftan in a different style from his tunics, a wraparound robe in star-shimmer fabric like gossamer speckled in galaxies, the folds at the front parting so that every step offered glimpses of tawny, satin-sheened legs. The trailing hem of the robe streamed across the floor behind him. His hair was fully unbound today, falling in natural sweeps around his face, over his shoulders, down his back. Divine in every sense of the word, as if his next step would take him up into the sky, and Vic found himself completely at a loss for words, standing there with his blood moving in crashing crescendos.
Amani drifted toward him, then swayed to a lazy halt, tilting his head and looking up at me. “You seem surprised to see me, pet. Did you forget you’d asked me to come?”
“N-no—no, I just lost track of time.” Vic shook himself from his daze and stepped forward to take Amani’s cello case and his coat, glancing at the wall clock as he slipped the coat down slender arms barely visible through sheeting, translucent partial sleeves. “Do you always get out of class this late?”
“Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Amani answered, transferring a small, unlabeled paper shopping bag from one hand to the other to slip his arm out of the coat.
“And I thought I worked long nights.” Vic tossed the coat over the back of the sofa and set the cello down more carefully, glancing at the bag. “What’s in the bag?”
“Something for later.” With a keen, piercing look, one that seemed to promise everything that made Vic’s body burn, Amani set the bag down on the coffee table, then settled onto the sofa gracefully, shivering a little. “It’s freezing out. I think it might snow soon.”
Vic followed the tempting line of bare legs to the arch of Amani’s feet, and his simple leather strap sandals. “You always wear sandals. Aren’t you cold?”
“A little. But I like the cold.”
Vic hesitated, momentarily resisting an impulsive urge—then gave in and sank to one knee in front of Amani, cradling a slim ankle in his hands as he carefully began to work at the sandal straps. Easing them free, he set the sandal aside, then enveloped Amani’s slim foot in both his palms. His skin was cool against Vic’s, and he stroked slowly, trying to ease some warmth back into the flesh, savoring the quiet pleasure in just being able to do this for Amani. “Your toes are like ice.”
“Is that why you wanted me to come?” Soft, teasing, yet somehow more gentle than the typical tone of tart mockery. “To find out if you really do have a foot fetish?”
“No.” Vic smiled to himself as he used his thumbs to press at each delicate toe, coaxing circulation to increase. “This is me just wanting to touch you. Do something for you.” He glanced up at the pretty thing watching him so curiously. “I just…wanted to see you tonight. And if I’m being honest, I really would like to learn how to play the cello again.”
Amani hid a quiet laugh behind curled fingers. “Greedy. You want two for the price of one? Lessons in music and lessons in submission?”
“Maybe,” Vic murmured, letting his fingers slip upward, stroking over a sveltely slim calf toward his knee, “I just want to keep you here longer with me.”
Amani shifted his leg in Vic’s grip, almost enticing him to caress higher when his caftan fell aside to expose a luscious length of thigh just soft enough that flesh gave and yielded in delicious impressions as Vic followed his temptation, leaning in to press a kiss to one dusky knee.
“Then maybe,” Amani sighed, as he pressed his bare foot to the center of Vic’s chest and teasingly pushed him back, “I should make you practice naked. With a cock strap. Possibly anal beads.”
Vic fell still, looking up at Amani, eyes widening—yet no matter his surprise, his cock knew exactly how to react, already starting to course to life, hardening against his jeans. “That’s cruel.”
“Did you forget the dictionary definition of a sadist?”
“I might need you to remind me.” God, Amani was going to wreck him. He lowered his eyes, bending to catch his other foot, working his sandal off. “Cock strap, yes. Anal beads, no.”
Slim fingers feathered down his cheek, wove into his hair, and he leaned into the touch with a pleased sigh. “Never been curious how it feels inside, pet?”