Blood Sacraments Read Free Page A

lifts me by the arms, spins me, and throws me onto my belly in the grass. He’s on top of me a split second after I hit the ground, one hand on the back of my neck, shoving my face against the earth, another wrapped around my chest. “Ah, yes. This is what you came to Rome for, is it not?” he whispers in my ear, his cock bumping my buttocks. “I enter you, you enter my kingdom? Yes? Yes?”
    “Yes,” I groan. Heat-dead grasses scrape my face; Roman earth dusts my lips. I grit my teeth, readying myself for the pain.
    But Marcus is taking his time. His lips brush my ear. “How long, barbarian? How long since you were taken this way?” Beneath me, his fingers trap a nipple. His nails begin to dig.
    “Sir, my lover Matt sometimes…we switch. We even…we have silver cuffs at home.”
    “Ah, so you bottom occasionally? Then this will not be as grand a trauma as I’d imagined? A pity. How long since another vampire took you then?”
    “Half a century, sir. In Santorini.”
    “Yes? The blood is strong there. Older even than mine.” Marcus’s hand leaves my neck, positioning his cock against my tightness. “You want this, do you not?”
    Again, I know better than to lie. “Yes, sir. I don’t want to want it, but I do.”
    “Beg me, my hirsute captive,” Marcus sighs. “Beg me to take you.”
    I hesitate only for a second. That long-submerged part of me is rising, eager. “Please, sir. Please, Marcus. Take me…” I arch my ass, rub it against him, brush his hard belly with my bound hands. “I can’t fight you. I’m too weak. I’m your captive, sir. Do what you please.”
    “And so I shall.” He slips down my body. His fingers play over my ass, tugging on the cheek and cleft hair, and then his hands clutch my hips and his teeth sink into my right buttock.
    “Huhhhh,” I gasp into the grass. His lips clamp down, sealing the sudden wound, sucking hard. I can feel my strength receding further, the silver-weakness mingling now with blood loss.
    The suction stops. Liquid smeared between my ass cheeks. Lubrication of my own blood. I grunt as his finger enters me. I buck back onto his hand. Another finger slides inside. “Open. Open for Rome,” Marcus whispers. His muscled weight, like a great sculpture, settles atop me, his cockhead pressing against me, his arm wrapped around my torso.
    “Be easy, highlander. I will care for you well.”
    I nod, trying to will myself open. His cockhead replaces his fingers, easing inside. Damn, so thick. Pain spasms through me, forcing out a whimper.
    “Easy, boy.” To my surprise, Marcus does not simply shove it in and rape me, as the earlier mouth-pounding suggested that he might. Instead, to my relief, he moves the head in and out in short strokes. He pulls out, adds more bloody lube, pushes the head in again. More shallow strokes, till the pain at last recedes and he can sense my readiness. Then, very slowly, with surprising gentleness, he slides entirely inside, filling me completely. More waves of pain; I give a loud, deep moan. Marcus’s hand grips my jaw, palm pressed tightly over my mouth.
    “Quiet now, boy. There, there. Yes.” Cocking his hips, he moves slowly in and out, in and out. I moan inside his muffling grip. “Ruffian. Lovely, smelly, hairy Scot. I will use you now, mountain man, will I not? Beg me to use you. Do you not want to be used? Used hard?”
    He pulls out, resting his cockhead against my entrance. The sudden emptiness is an ache.
    “Use me, sir. Hard, please, sir. I can take it.” Muttering into his hand, I flex my ass cheeks, grinding back against him.
    “So reluctant to be ridden, now so eager to be used? If you insist.” Marcus thrusts, quick and hard, shoving his entire length up inside me. I wince, gasping against the tight gag of his hand. A steady pounding begins. Cuffed, silver-weak, I lie there entirely helpless, impaled by bliss, deep grunts—“Huhh, huhhhh, huhhhh, huhh!”—forced out of me by the rhythmic hammering of