Far From Home One: The Warlord's Chosen-- A M/M Fantasy Romance

15- Breathe

**a continuation of an explicit sex scene, sort of dubcon**

GEIR—

"Calm, little mate," I had told him as his eyes met mine, his cock softened, and his entire body clenched in pain. As I had thought, the little piercing on his perineum dug into my skin, drawing cold bolts of pleasure up my spine. And I wondered how it felt to my mate, to feel the piercing pressed so firmly against him?

Gods, I hoped he didn't demand it be taken out. I wanted to taste it, explore it someday.

"Breathe; breathe; breathe; the pain will lessen soon. Just breathe."

He didn't understand the words, but he must have comprehended my breathing motions, because soon he was taking deep, catching breaths, and his body was relaxing.

Then he submitted to my verbal claim, in my tongue no less, and I about lost control. I managed to keep my thrusts into his body gentle, still seeking his pleasure. And pleasure was what he felt, I was sure of it. His entire body was now rocking with mine, his hesitation and pain seemingly distant memories as he urged me on, grabbing at my hair, my arms, his fingernails drawing crimson drops of blood as he scratched at my back to drag me to him.

My little mate was a demanding lover, and in that I reveled. I would wear the little injuries with pride for pleasuring my gentle Warprize so very well.

When his cries turned manic, I reached down between us. It was difficult to reach his prick, as he had plastered himself against me— like an ocean octopus my mate was— but I managed to palm it gently. One stroke was all my mate needed before he screamed my name and exploded into my palm. His ass muscles clenching around my cock, milking me and making it next to impossible to thrust in and out anymore, caused my own downfall and soon I was biting his neck as I shot my seed inside his body.

His gasps and near-sobs as his orgasm tore through him had me tightening the grip my teeth had on his neck. He moaned but turned his head to give me better access.

Submitting wholly and oh-so-beautifully to my claim to his body and his soul. My Warprize, though unfamiliar with the ways of my people, seemed to naturally understand what I needed, what tradition dictated from him this night, and gave it without thought. So naturally I almost wondered if he had been schooled in the the art of submission to one's mate.

When my cock was spent, I pulled away just enough to pepper his face with kisses.

"So good, little mate," I whispered as I kissed his pain-wet, overwhelmed eyes.

His heaving breaths matched my own as I pulled myself out of him, chuffing in satisfaction at the way his hole twitched and a small trickle of semen squeezed out. I reached down, gathering it up, and pushed it back in. He whimpered but made no move to pull away.

I lay next to him, propped on my elbow to watch him, because I didn't want to lay on him and squash him— I was almost double his size, after all. He looked up at me, his eyes wide and confused, curious. I prayed he was beginning to understand. To fully comprehend the lies he had been told, and that he was as little my slave as I was his. We belonged to each other equally, but I feared, with the confusion he still showed whenever I touched him affectionately in passing, kissed him, tried to be nearer to my new mate, to get to know him as a courting couple does, that he still questioned each of my actions.