Wings (15 page)
“Tanyan saw how I felt. I was not exactly subtle. He was grudging, but he seems to truly
feel for you.” Vanyae stiffened a little, and a hint of jealousy entered his expression. “He told me
that if I ever hurt you, ever treated you ill, there
would
be a war.” There was a faint wonder then
in his voice. “He called his men back.”
Anyar closed his eyes for a brief moment, feeling both a sadness at never seeing Tanyan
again and a resignation that it had never been meant to be.
“You love me?” He could only whisper the words, so daunting were they to say.
Vanyae kissed him, and it was there in his touch.
The prince stroked his hair, tried to smile, though faint tears shone in his eyes. “I cannot
change the way things are here in a day, my love, but together… Maybe one day there will be no
slaves at all, only freedom. You and I, we can start this. I will start it with you. You are free,
totally free.” He swallowed hard. “I hope you want to stay, want me…”
Anyar struggled to one elbow, needing to reciprocate, needing to show—
Vanyae grinned, surprised and pleased by Anyar's sudden aggression as he pushed the
prince to his back.
His weakness overcome by need, Anyar leaned over his prize, kissing, licking, tasting
every inch of the pale skin before him.
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Vanyae moaned, one hand stroking his lover's soft, dark hair, while the other fisted in the
covers, clenching and relaxing with each touch.
The younger man spent much time over sensitive nipples, loving the way the prince
writhed under the suckling, his breath beginning to come hard and fast.
But Anyar wanted more.
He kissed his way down and gave a loving lick to the huge shaft before him, his own
passion rising as he watched it jump and thicken further. Then he slid across the supine body,
pushing himself up to straddle his lover, his arms somewhat shaky as he braced himself on that
powerful chest.
Vanyae watched him, green eyes alight, and put out a hand to steady his mate. “We do not
have to…”
Anyar shook his head. “I need to. I want to make you mine. Want you to make me yours.
We need this.”
The prince nodded and reached over to the small table by the bed and pulled oil from its
drawer.
Vanyae's own hands less than steady, he poured some over his fingers and reached around
Anyar to press against the sweet entrance to his lover's body.
He pushed in with one finger, his breath catching as he watched Anyar arch with pleasure,
a moan escaping his parted lips. A few gentle thrusts, then two fingers.
Anyar leaned forward and kissed his prince's lips while pushing his hips back to meet the
fingers that slid in and out of his body, sending sparks shooting through his nerves with each
stroke.
Three had him throwing his head back, tightening on them, cries of pleasure filling the
room with sound.
Anyar could take no more. Pulling from the too-slow fingers, he put a hand behind him
and positioned Vanyae's rock-hard shaft. With a sharp cry, he let his weight take him down,
encasing the huge spear with one thrust.
Vanyae arched beneath him, a cry of his own echoing Anyar's.
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J. C. Owens
Hardly taking a breath, Anyar began to ride his prince hard, whimpering at the
pleasure/pain, loving the feel of being utterly filled, his body struggling to take such a large
intruder. Each movement brushed that pleasure spot within, making his body shudder and writhe,
his toes curl with sensation.
Vanyae held his hips, beginning to pump up as Anyar rode down, and they shook with the
force of their passion, sweat beginning to trickle down their bodies.
Faster, faster, soft cries and whimpers, gasps and moans, higher and higher, balls drawing
up tight and hard to the point of pain, breath suspended until they thought they could not go
another moment—then they screamed in unison. They flew, together, as one.
Anyar collapsed to his lover's chest, replete, dazed, content in some deep part of him,
feeling Vanyae's lips on his temple.
“My little one,” the prince murmured, a smile in his voice. “I think that would have made
even our ancestors proud.”
Anyar laughed and drew his mate close, black and white wings mingling.
Loose Id(R) Titles by J. C. Owens
Gaven
Wings
J. C. Owens
J. C. Owens originally wrote historical fiction, and with three published books still loves
the genre. Having discovered the art of writing erotic male/male fiction, though, J. C. is now
obsessed with it. Fantasy backdrops make a beautifully blank page to work with and J. C. only
wishes that the characters were real!
J.C. spent many years in a medieval re-enactment group, learning and living history, and
that persona and experience give life to J.C’s writings. Love of even more ancient history
spurred trips to Italy, Greece, Turkey and Egypt, and that also colors the characters and worlds of
the books.
Love of ferrets and greyhounds and all living creatures is the pivotal point around which
J.C’s “real” life revolves.
Most of all, J.C. loves to tell stories…