Page 5 of Kiss of Embers

The ass’s owner busied himself making coffee in the cabin’s temperamental coffee maker. The machine sputtered, a red light blinking like a small, angry eye.

“Suffering fuck,” Finn muttered, hunching as he fiddled with the machine. His buttocks flexed, and I bit back a moan. He hunkered down, his feet planted firmly apart. More curses spilled from his lips. As he bent lower, his heavy sack peeked between his muscular thighs, the bulge lovingly encased in soft gray cotton.

I leaned against the door frame and palmed my aching dick through my pajama pants. Outside the window above the sink, snow fell in lazy drifts. In the distance, the Bavarian Alps soaredtoward a bright morning sky. Sunlight set the snow sparkling. The view was undeniably gorgeous. It was nothing compared to the view in front of me. In eight decades, I’d yet to find a landscape that could compete with Finn MacAlasdair.

When it came to my fantasies, he ticked every box. Chocolate-brown hair that was forever falling into a pair of gray eyes. Six-and-a-half feet of muscle honed to mouthwatering perfection. And, of course, an ass that held my attention like a drum solo.

The coffee maker gave another halfhearted sputter. Finn spat a Gaelic curse, then straightened to his full height. His buttocks drew together, a thin strip of cotton captured in the tantalizing cleft between them.

Desire punched hard, and I dug my teeth into my lip as I gave my erection another firm stroke. The thin robe I’d thrown on when I left the bed fluttered open, letting the cabin’s dry, cool air caress my bare chest and abs. I ran my palm up to my stomach, then slid my hand under my waistband and gripped my cock.

Finn stretched his arms over his head, the movement slow and easy. He curled long fingers toward the cabin’s beamed ceiling as he released what sounded like a yawn. Muscle rippled down his back in a languid wave. He bowed his spine, thrusting his ass out as he leaned into the stretch. His ass flexed, sucking more cotton into his crease.

My dick leapt in my hand. Lust crackled through me. Fuck, I was going to come just from looking at him. He’d never let me live it down. I clenched my jaw as I squeezed the base of my shaft, my breath hitching as I tried to stave off my release.

“Are you just going to stand there holding your dick, or are you going to come over here and suck mine?”

I jerked my head up to find Finn watching me over his shoulder, amusement in his gray eyes. They glinted red as he faced me and then leaned against the counter.

“Well?” he added, gesturing to his straining erection. A damp patch marked the spot where his cockhead pressed against the front of his boxer briefs.

I crossed the kitchen and planted my hands on the counter on either side of his hips, bracketing him in. Then I bent and licked a path up the side of his neck, my tongue dragging over his stubble. His scent—smoke and a hint of dark incense—filled my lungs. Like all dragons save for King Cormac, Finn carried traces of his mother’s heritage. The incense was one of those things. “How long have you known I was there?”

His chuckle rumbled against my lips. “You’re really loud when you’re fucking my ass with your eyes.” His laugh turned into a moan as I moved down his body, swirling my tongue around one flat, pink nipple.

I bit the tender peak, and I absorbed his gasp before growling, “I’d rather fuck it with my tongue.” Tapping the speed I inherited from my mother, I spun him around and yanked his boxer briefs down. A couple more tugs, and they were on the floor. When he hissed and thrust his ass out, I took it as the invitation it was and went to my knees. Then I palmed his cheeks, spread him wide, and thrust my face into his crease.

“Fuck!” He shuddered as I made good on my promise, swirling my tongue around his hole the same way I’d circled his nipple. “Oh fuck, Struan. Just like that.”

“Like what?” I demanded, drawing back long enough to spit on his opening. The pink muscle tightened like a little mouth, the pleated skin glistening. So pretty. Growling, I dug my fingers into his cheeks and delved back in, stroking my tongue over my prize.

Finn gasped, rocking against my face. “Likethat.” His voice went hoarse, his words stretching on a moan. “Holy fuck, you know what you’re doing.” Wood creaked, and I knew he gripped the counter. The cabin was sturdy. Old. Not as old as wewere, but it was more solidly built than the hotels that littered the touristy parts of the mountains. The counter would hold. Probably.

Finn’s hole fluttered against my tongue, and I forgot all about the counter. I licked and stroked, alternating between teasing caresses and hard thrusts. Finally, the ring of muscle relaxed, and I poked my tongue inside, fucking it in and out of Finn’s hot, slick passage.

“More,” he demanded, grinding his ass on my face. The kitchen filled with his harsh breaths and the wet sounds of my tongue thrusting inside him. My cock was probably dripping onto the floor, but I couldn’t be bothered to touch it. Not when I could feel every twitch and squeeze of Finn’s muscle around my tongue. After a moment, he spread his legs wider and arched his back. “Deeper. I’m close.”

“Mmm.” Wickedness spread through me, and I abandoned his hole to run my tongue down his balls, denying him the pleasure I knew he chased. Sure enough, he reached back and gripped my hair, attempting to steer me where he wanted me. I ignored the pain in my scalp as I mouthed at his sack.

Finn’s warning growl rumbled above me. “Struan…”

“Wheesht,” I said, running my tongue over the crinkled seam of his nuts. I sucked one hot globe into my mouth and tugged. At the same moment, I pushed a finger inside him, delving deep enough to graze his gland.

His pleasured cry filled the kitchen as his passage strangled my finger. “Aye,” he panted, throwing his hips back. “Keep going.”

I gave his prostate a few firm strokes, then pulled my finger from his ass.

He slammed his free hand on the counter. “Fucking hell, Struan!”

I released his testicle and aimed for the other one. But my lips closed around empty air. I pitched forward, my forehead smacking the kitchen cabinets. Amusement and irritation coursed through me in equal measure. He’d channeled away, the squirrelly fucker.

Ignoring the sting in my forehead, I surged to my feet and headed for the bedroom, stripping as I went. My swollen cock bobbed like a dowsing rod as my robe and pajama pants hit the floor. The bedroom door was ajar. Anticipation pumped hot in my veins as I reached out to shove it wider.

A warm, heavy weight landed on my back, and a pair of sharp fangs grazed my neck. “Looking for me?” Finn breathed in my ear.

I seized his thighs on either side of my hips, then whirled and slammed his back into the nearest wall. His grunt exploded in my ear, but he hung on, his muscular thighs wrapped around my waist. He threw an arm around my neck and squeezed, his thick bicep digging into my throat.

“Let…go,” I wheezed, clawing at his forearm even as my body lit up at the feel of his rigid dick prodding my lower back.