Read Online Rite of Summer: Treading the Boards, Book 1 by Tess Bowery - Free Book Online
Authors: Tess Bowery
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condemn him for his lusts, Joshua took himself in hand to answer. Ashbrook’s fingers were slender, strong and precise in their movements. He would know exactly where and how to touch, when to tighten his grip and when to tease with short, quick strokes.
Blood and heat rushed to Joshua’s prick as he closed his fingers around his shaft. It hardened in his hand, the smooth skin heating, stretching, throbbing as his prick expanded into the circle of his palm. He stroked himself with a few slow and languid tugs at first. His foreskin slid easily over the crown, sending little shivers of pleasure and heat rippling through him. It caught for a moment on the small gold ring that pierced his cockhead, the burn immediate. He flicked the ring with his nail, a jolt of pressure and pleasure reverberating down to the root of his prick and into his spine.
His last lover’s hands had been clever, his mouth hot and wet, capable of so many distracting things. That mouth had slid down over Joshua’s prick, so slick and slow. He had tongued at the base of it, worked his way back up to circle the head with such deliberate and drawn-out caresses that Joshua had been a shaking, trembling mess by the time Charlie had allowed him to come.
Yes, think of Charlie. It was safer that way.
The gold rings that had winked in Charlie’s nipples had been a revelation, souvenirs from a voyage to far-distant lands. Joshua had vaguely expected tattoos, maybe scars. A sailor’s life was fraught with danger, and Charlie had been an able seaman, not an officer able to shut himself away in a cabin with charts and books. And then, alone in an inn room that smelled of wood smoke and wine, Joshua had peeled the shirt from Charlie’s body, with trembling and eager hands, and been unmade.
When Joshua had taken those rings between his lips, toyed with them in his fingers, Charlie had spent himself untouched—an amazing sight. Joshua had suckled at the metal, fascinated, rolled the ring between teeth and lips, pulled back at it and laved the sting with his tongue. Charlie had convulsed, cried out for God and for mercy before his prick jerked and he splashed wet, white and hot between their bodies.
Joshua had not known such a thing was possible until he saw it for himself. And then he wanted .
“Where else can it be done?” He had asked, lying in Charlie’s arms, his body replete. He’d smoothed his thumb over the red marks of his teeth left on Charlie’s shoulder and arm, tugged gently on the leftmost ring and watched his nipple harden to a pebble. Then, “That. I want that.” It was the closest thing to impetuous madness he had ever allowed himself, his pulse beating loudly in his ears, the drumbeat of the ocean.
Dashing, fair-haired Charlie had done his best to talk Joshua out of his mad plan. He capitulated—finally, after weeks of henpecking—procured the necessary items with a warning and a fierce scowl.
That delicious night, alone in the bed piled high with pillows, Joshua gripped the headboard with both hands, his nervousness taking over. Charlie opened the brandy and drank, but didn’t swallow; he kissed Joshua with it, fed him the liqueur from mouth to mouth until Joshua’s limbs were loose and his body languid.
“You can still back out, you know.”
“No—I want this.”
He had come close to refusing when Charlie turned the needle in the candle flame, the metal glowing red-hot in the fire. Still, he steeled himself, gripped the headboard more tightly and imagined himself elsewhere. The pain had been brutal yet brief, the euphoria that drowned it moments later far more intense than any discomfort.
Joshua had had cause to regret over the course of the next few weeks, naturally, until the first time his cock hardened without stabs of pain. He had taken himself in hand that first time, so tentatively, so carefully, as though it were the very first time and he still imagined he might break. Until his thumbnail scraped across the ring
Blood and heat rushed to Joshua’s prick as he closed his fingers around his shaft. It hardened in his hand, the smooth skin heating, stretching, throbbing as his prick expanded into the circle of his palm. He stroked himself with a few slow and languid tugs at first. His foreskin slid easily over the crown, sending little shivers of pleasure and heat rippling through him. It caught for a moment on the small gold ring that pierced his cockhead, the burn immediate. He flicked the ring with his nail, a jolt of pressure and pleasure reverberating down to the root of his prick and into his spine.
His last lover’s hands had been clever, his mouth hot and wet, capable of so many distracting things. That mouth had slid down over Joshua’s prick, so slick and slow. He had tongued at the base of it, worked his way back up to circle the head with such deliberate and drawn-out caresses that Joshua had been a shaking, trembling mess by the time Charlie had allowed him to come.
Yes, think of Charlie. It was safer that way.
The gold rings that had winked in Charlie’s nipples had been a revelation, souvenirs from a voyage to far-distant lands. Joshua had vaguely expected tattoos, maybe scars. A sailor’s life was fraught with danger, and Charlie had been an able seaman, not an officer able to shut himself away in a cabin with charts and books. And then, alone in an inn room that smelled of wood smoke and wine, Joshua had peeled the shirt from Charlie’s body, with trembling and eager hands, and been unmade.
When Joshua had taken those rings between his lips, toyed with them in his fingers, Charlie had spent himself untouched—an amazing sight. Joshua had suckled at the metal, fascinated, rolled the ring between teeth and lips, pulled back at it and laved the sting with his tongue. Charlie had convulsed, cried out for God and for mercy before his prick jerked and he splashed wet, white and hot between their bodies.
Joshua had not known such a thing was possible until he saw it for himself. And then he wanted .
“Where else can it be done?” He had asked, lying in Charlie’s arms, his body replete. He’d smoothed his thumb over the red marks of his teeth left on Charlie’s shoulder and arm, tugged gently on the leftmost ring and watched his nipple harden to a pebble. Then, “That. I want that.” It was the closest thing to impetuous madness he had ever allowed himself, his pulse beating loudly in his ears, the drumbeat of the ocean.
Dashing, fair-haired Charlie had done his best to talk Joshua out of his mad plan. He capitulated—finally, after weeks of henpecking—procured the necessary items with a warning and a fierce scowl.
That delicious night, alone in the bed piled high with pillows, Joshua gripped the headboard with both hands, his nervousness taking over. Charlie opened the brandy and drank, but didn’t swallow; he kissed Joshua with it, fed him the liqueur from mouth to mouth until Joshua’s limbs were loose and his body languid.
“You can still back out, you know.”
“No—I want this.”
He had come close to refusing when Charlie turned the needle in the candle flame, the metal glowing red-hot in the fire. Still, he steeled himself, gripped the headboard more tightly and imagined himself elsewhere. The pain had been brutal yet brief, the euphoria that drowned it moments later far more intense than any discomfort.
Joshua had had cause to regret over the course of the next few weeks, naturally, until the first time his cock hardened without stabs of pain. He had taken himself in hand that first time, so tentatively, so carefully, as though it were the very first time and he still imagined he might break. Until his thumbnail scraped across the ring
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