Read Online Dark Soul Vol. 1 by Aleksandr Voinov - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Aleksandr Voinov
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crouching between the plants, hiding behind a pillar, suddenly breathless.
If you’re not up for it . . .
Stefano shook his head. I am. God damn it, I am now.
Falchi rubbed against Silvio, hard dick sliding over his small, muscular ass, up to his flank, and Silvio reached back to touch him. He jerked Falchi’s cock, the angle clumsy, but Falchi still smiled and dipped down to brush Silvio’s ear with his lips. Maybe whispering. Something like I know you want it . Or, Tell me how much you want my dick up your ass.
Silvio opened further, lifted himself up from the stone floor, and Falchi’s hand slid beneath him, taking hold of his cock. The younger man gasped audibly, rocking into a grip that seemed downright painful, then clenched his eyes shut when his lover squeezed his balls and pulled.
Stefano’s own balls tightened in sympathy, but God, Silvio in pain was a sight to behold. It fed the same dark arousal that claimed him when he watched the kind of porn where the actors wore not just lust on their faces, but pain or shame or both. He’d never get shame from Silvio, but the way the young killer embraced his emotions during sex—regardless of what exactly they were—was a huge turn-on. Whatever happened to Silvio, he sank into it without reservation, possibly even without self-awareness.
What would it be like to have a lover like that? Somebody he could do this to, mix the pleasure with pain. Someone who would take it all and more and never consider him a controlling freak. Donata sometimes liked it rough, but it was a mood thing, and he was still always careful. Always considerate. Silvio would be so very different.
“Battista . . . ti prego ,” Silvio begged, voice colored with real pain.
Falchi nudged Silvio closer to the whirlpool, almost balancing him on the rim, released his balls and reached into the water to scoop some up. He lifted the hand over Silvio’s back and let the water run over his ass. Silvio curved his spine into the trickle, but then Falchi took him by the hips, positioned his cock against Silvio’s ass, and thrust.
Silvio groaned and bit his lips hard, face showing nothing but pain. Stefano winced. Was that all the preparation he’d gotten? Water ? When a bottle of bath or body oil stood not far away on a shelf right next to the nearby massage table?
Falchi seemed to have some difficulty pressing inside. He reached down to position his dick again, strong hand digging into Silvio’s glutes to force his way, hips rolling to get to a better angle. By the look on the younger man’s face, Silvio struggled just as much to accept the essentially dry fuck.
Stefano clenched his jaw, sickened and aroused.
Silvio dropped his forehead to the tiled ground, breathing harshly as Falchi forced his way further inside, rocking his body with every short, powerful thrust.
Somehow, Silvio remained painfully hard through it all: tight, tense, taut, every muscle clearly visible beneath his skin, all his considerable willpower directed at accepting what was happening to him.
God, how Stefano wished he were the one doing it.
He wanted to feel Silvio like that, force him to surrender and accept him inside. He’d been insane to blow him off, shouldn’t have let him walk away because of his stupid pride. He could’ve had this, and he’d chosen a goddamned workout.
Silvio was crumpling under the assault. Relaxing, giving. The ability of this man to accept and yield mystified Stefano.
It seemed his pain was melting away, beneath intense focus or maybe just emptiness. It was clear, though, that Falchi found it easier to fuck him now, his thrusts harsher, even brutal, thoroughly domineering. He clearly controlled Silvio, and, more impressively, himself. For all the hard fucking Falchi was dishing out, he never closed his eyes, never seemed to get carried away, while Silvio did all that despite the pain.
Stefano tightened his fist in his towel, too aware of his maddening hard-on rubbing against the
If you’re not up for it . . .
Stefano shook his head. I am. God damn it, I am now.
Falchi rubbed against Silvio, hard dick sliding over his small, muscular ass, up to his flank, and Silvio reached back to touch him. He jerked Falchi’s cock, the angle clumsy, but Falchi still smiled and dipped down to brush Silvio’s ear with his lips. Maybe whispering. Something like I know you want it . Or, Tell me how much you want my dick up your ass.
Silvio opened further, lifted himself up from the stone floor, and Falchi’s hand slid beneath him, taking hold of his cock. The younger man gasped audibly, rocking into a grip that seemed downright painful, then clenched his eyes shut when his lover squeezed his balls and pulled.
Stefano’s own balls tightened in sympathy, but God, Silvio in pain was a sight to behold. It fed the same dark arousal that claimed him when he watched the kind of porn where the actors wore not just lust on their faces, but pain or shame or both. He’d never get shame from Silvio, but the way the young killer embraced his emotions during sex—regardless of what exactly they were—was a huge turn-on. Whatever happened to Silvio, he sank into it without reservation, possibly even without self-awareness.
What would it be like to have a lover like that? Somebody he could do this to, mix the pleasure with pain. Someone who would take it all and more and never consider him a controlling freak. Donata sometimes liked it rough, but it was a mood thing, and he was still always careful. Always considerate. Silvio would be so very different.
“Battista . . . ti prego ,” Silvio begged, voice colored with real pain.
Falchi nudged Silvio closer to the whirlpool, almost balancing him on the rim, released his balls and reached into the water to scoop some up. He lifted the hand over Silvio’s back and let the water run over his ass. Silvio curved his spine into the trickle, but then Falchi took him by the hips, positioned his cock against Silvio’s ass, and thrust.
Silvio groaned and bit his lips hard, face showing nothing but pain. Stefano winced. Was that all the preparation he’d gotten? Water ? When a bottle of bath or body oil stood not far away on a shelf right next to the nearby massage table?
Falchi seemed to have some difficulty pressing inside. He reached down to position his dick again, strong hand digging into Silvio’s glutes to force his way, hips rolling to get to a better angle. By the look on the younger man’s face, Silvio struggled just as much to accept the essentially dry fuck.
Stefano clenched his jaw, sickened and aroused.
Silvio dropped his forehead to the tiled ground, breathing harshly as Falchi forced his way further inside, rocking his body with every short, powerful thrust.
Somehow, Silvio remained painfully hard through it all: tight, tense, taut, every muscle clearly visible beneath his skin, all his considerable willpower directed at accepting what was happening to him.
God, how Stefano wished he were the one doing it.
He wanted to feel Silvio like that, force him to surrender and accept him inside. He’d been insane to blow him off, shouldn’t have let him walk away because of his stupid pride. He could’ve had this, and he’d chosen a goddamned workout.
Silvio was crumpling under the assault. Relaxing, giving. The ability of this man to accept and yield mystified Stefano.
It seemed his pain was melting away, beneath intense focus or maybe just emptiness. It was clear, though, that Falchi found it easier to fuck him now, his thrusts harsher, even brutal, thoroughly domineering. He clearly controlled Silvio, and, more impressively, himself. For all the hard fucking Falchi was dishing out, he never closed his eyes, never seemed to get carried away, while Silvio did all that despite the pain.
Stefano tightened his fist in his towel, too aware of his maddening hard-on rubbing against the
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