Primal (Wrong Side of the Tracks 2)

He still gripped the knife in his hand in a mock-threat as he spoke. “Be good and I won’t cut you after.”

“No—” Dane uttered, but despite his frantic expression, the erection and the dark flush descending to his chest told the real story, and when Jag angled his hips and pressed his cockhead to the familiar dip at the tight hole, he found it liberally greased. Of course.

“You’re saying I’m the first man to mount you?” His voice came out as a purr when he thrust his cock in through the sphincter. It didn’t matter to him that he wasn’t Dane’s first, but the fantasy of it being so awoke a primal need in him, to possess, and keep, and breed.

The woods around them went quiet as Dane howled, not holding anything back. But despite the apparent anguish, his hole relaxed, molding to Jag’s tool, and the cock resting against Dane’s stomach spread precum across his skin when that initial thrust shook his entire form. “Oh fuck... oh God,” Dane muttered and pried his eyes open to stare into Jag’s, which glared at him from behind the scary mask.

“That’s it. Fits like a glove.” Jag had to still and take a deep breath to avoid coming on the spot from the delightful way Dane’s muscles clenched around his cock. He grabbed Dane under the knees and pressed down to bring their bodies closer. Dane was hot clay in his hands, and Jag would mold him however he liked.

“Oh no, no,” Dane whimpered, but his mouth went slack, and his gaze softened, as if his spirit had left. His body, however, was very much present and pliant.

Jag chewed on his lip, squeezing the meaty flesh of his lover’s thigh. Sweat beaded on his back, and he couldn’t take the barrier of the mask any longer. He pulled it off and threw it to the grass.

“Fuck it. You’re staying with me anyway,” he said with a grunt and descended on Dane’s neck with his teeth and tongue.

Fresh sweat was salty heaven, and he closed his eyes, letting himself be taken over by the beast deep inside, the one that delighted in Dane’s cries and only cared for its own urges.

“No… I can’t,” Dane whimpered, but pleasure was so obvious in his tone it no longer sounded convincing.

“Yes you can,” Jag murmured and bit at Dane’s jaw through the beard while fucking him with increasing fervor. “I’ll take you to my lair and keep you there as my prime breeding stock. Most of the year, you’ll have your belly filled with pups.” Jag’s balls tightened when he imagined Dane in that position, always ready for him, deprived of bodily autonomy and focused solely on Jag’s desires. The way he was submitting now, play-fighting yet with his legs wide open and hole primed for cock sent Jag into a frenzy.

Dane mewled something in protest, but as Jag kept ramming into his tight heat, his moan gained a high pitch. He twitched, stiffened, and then cum shot between their bodies, spread by each of Jag’s thrusts.

His ass clenched around Jag’s cock, then throbbed, pushing any rational thoughts from Jag’s head. Jag fucked him like a madman as climax spread through him in violent waves, but there was nothing brutal in the way he wrapped his arms around Dane’s sturdy form. Spunk shot out of his balls, filling up his lover, and he bit the crook of Dane’s neck, lost in the glorious moment that smelled of the forest and their sweat. An owl hooted in the distance, but other than that, the sounds of their fucking, their moans and gasps were the only signs that humanity existed.

In their corner of the world, they were free to play as they liked, and nobody could judge them for it. Dane went limp, and his thighs went lax, resting against Jag’s spent body as they both caught their breath, sharing heat and sweat. Jag wouldn’t stop kissing and biting Dane’s neck though as spunk cooled between their bellies.

“Oh… that was… you’re an animal,” Dane whispered.

Jag chuckled and let out a wolfish growl to tease Dane. “I love seeing you lose it.”

When his cock softened enough to slide out of Dane, he stayed on top and instead of pulling away made his way down Dane’s body, leaving a trail of kisses. It was only when Dane winced, tensing his shoulders, that Jag remembered that they’d been resting their combined weight on his bound arms and released them.

Warm hands moved along Jag’s body, caressing him as he rubbed his face against all the fragrant spots on his man, squeezing the plump flesh and licking off the salty evidence of their union.

“You’re so delicious,” he purred as his tongue glided over the fluffy hair. “I’m the luckiest beast on Earth.”

Dane grinned, petting Jag’s hair, no longer resistant. “You won. Now you get to consume me, Beast.”