Nischal [leopard spots 9] (6 page)

He’d been right, too. Preston wasn’t thin at all. He was filled out and his biceps were as shapely as his legs, but there were no six-pack abs, just smooth, white skin and a slight trail of golden hair dividing his torso. That hair swirled around his nipples and turned into a fiery bush framing Preston’s cock.

Nischal wanted to part the man’s ass cheeks and see if that hidden crease was lined with the same colour of fuzz. He hitched Preston into his lap a little more. Preston’s breathing was slow and steady, so he was okay. Nischal didn’t try to bring him to consciousness yet.

Soon enough, Preston would wake up and there’d be panic and fear and maybe even cops. Nischal was going to try his best to prevent that last one, especially. He hoped Preston would give him a chance to explain.

Probably not while he looked like he did. Nischal hadn’t recognised himself in the mirror. There was nothing of the boy he used to be in the image that had been reflected back at him.

Preston grunted and Nischal gently stroked his chest. He liked Preston’s little coral-coloured nipples. The tips were fat and taut. He touched one and his cock began to perk up. His mouth watered for a taste of Preston’s skin. He wanted to lap at that nub, to bite it and turn it dark from his attentions.

Nischal rubbed his thumb over it and Preston moaned and wiggled. That made his cock bob and Nischal liked that part of Preston, too. Preston’s dick was long and pale, almost as white as his skin everywhere else, but there was a pretty pink tint to it, and the head was much darker, a berry pink really. The slit on the tip was wide and a bit of cum still shone in it.

He couldn’t resist. Nischal held Preston’s cock at the base with one hand, and with the other he went after that little glistening treasure. He held the glans and used his index finger to prod at Preston’s slit.

“Oh,” Preston sighed, his legs falling open. Nischal bit his lip and stopped. He hadn’t been thinking, but groping an unconscious man was…unconscionable.

“Please,” Preston whispered, his voice a mere wisp of sound.

Nischal stiffened as he looked up to find Preston’s eyes barely open but focused on him.

“Please, touch me,” Preston begged, catching Nischal’s hand and bringing it back to his cock. “Please.”

Nischal squinted at Preston. The man didn’t waver or cower, nor did he let go of Nischal’s hand. Maybe he was feeling the same tug of attraction Nischal was feeling then.

He swept his finger over Preston’s slit and captured the bit of cum. With Preston watching him, Nischal brought the tangy-smelling stuff to his mouth. He licked it from his finger, and Preston whimpered.

Nischal absorbed the salty, bitter flavour. It seemed to melt into his entire body, to blend in with every cell in his being and become a part of him.
Kapuk has to have been right. There’s no other explanation for it.
Simple lust was nowhere near as strong as the need Nischal felt for Preston. If it had just been a matter of being horny, someone other than just Preston would have turned Nischal on, and no one else had.

Preston wiggled again, and his soft butt cheeks somehow aligned on either side of Nischal’s dick.

“Oh, yes,” Preston hissed. “That’s what I want.”

Nischal wanted that too, whatever it was. He slid one hand up and down Preston’s shaft while using his other hand to hold onto one of Preston’s hips. The man was just divinely built, the perfect mix of soft and hard.

Preston undulated and Nischal’s eyes crossed as pleasure poured into him from his groin upwards. “Gods,” he muttered, trying to rock his hips so he could drive his cock along Preston’s crack with more force. “Be still, and let me move.”

He didn’t have any experience, true, but instinct was a wonderful thing. Nischal rutted against Preston’s crease. The slightly furry trench was hot and deep enough, the pressure good enough, that Nischal’s mind was going to melt and run right out of his prick.

Preston began muttering, “In me, in me, goddamn it,” as he nudged Nischal’s hand away from his cock. Nischal released Preston’s length grudgingly until he remembered those pointed tips he wanted to play with.

Nischal used his arms to hold Preston still, angling his elbows against Preston’s sides as he found Preston’s nipples. Preston was still trying to order him around, but Nischal was losing himself in the man’s body, his sounds, his demands.

He found Preston’s nipples and had to look at them. That flesh was even more distended, and thick, reminding Nischal of pencil erasers. He grabbed onto them eagerly and pinched.

“Fuck!” Preston shouted, and he wasn’t still anymore. He ground back against Nischal. “Please, fuck me, please fuck me—”

Nischal wanted to, but Preston was squirming and writhing as he jerked himself off and rubbed his ass over Nischal’s cock. Nischal thrust up rapidly as he pinched Preston’s tits again.

Preston flung his head back, smacking the hell out of Nischal’s collarbone, but the pain was fine. He’d had worse, and he liked seeing Preston like this, out of his mind with need. Preston whimpered and Nischal twisted on the turgid buds. Preston jolted like he’d stepped on a live wire, then he mewled and shook as he came.

Nischal kept the pressure on those nipples as he fucked Preston’s crease. He finally let one go long enough to press a hand low down on Preston’s belly, driving his ass back.

Then ecstasy sparked in Nischal’s balls. It flowed to his cock, his ass, his groin, then spiralled out to all parts of his body. He gasped as he fought the impulse to bite Preston—it wasn’t a human urge, but the leopard in him craving the taste of Preston’s blood. It was disturbing yet fuelled the intensity of Nischal’s orgasm and he shot a thick load against Preston’s ass.

“I wanted you to fuck me,” Preston mumbled, his eyelids drifting shut. “S’bad when even my fantasy man won’t fuck me.”

Nischal’s stomach went cold, so did his fingers and toes as Preston dropped off into sleep.

Gods, Preston had thought he was fantasising all of that? Nischal cringed and closed his eyes, too. He was a naïve fucking fool, and Preston was going to hate him.

It was too bad Kapuk hadn’t said anything about what to do if you made your mate hate your guts.

Chapter Seven

Preston was dimly aware of being moved, but he figured he was still dreaming or hallucinating,
whatever.
It was all fine as long as he was feeling good. Other than being tired, and a tad sore, he did feel better than he had in a long while. Sated, even though he couldn’t get fucked in his own fantasy.

Probably because it’d been so long, he didn’t even remember what a good hard fucking felt like. Preston snorted and rolled into the mattress. It was kind of stinky, and the sheets were scratchy, but it was better than being on the shower floor.

Except, he couldn’t remember making the walk from the shower to the bed. All he had were flashes of being held against a furry chest and—

Preston’s heart beat so hard it sounded like a tiny drummer was in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself not to panic. Chances were, he’d hit his head and had a concussion. He’d had a nice, erotic fantasy about a—well, about a too-hairy stranger who had definitely been fascinated with Preston’s tits.

As if thinking about them woke them up somehow, Preston’s nipples began to throb with a dull ache.

What the fuck?
Preston peeked out of one eye. It didn’t do much good because the sheet and blanket were drawn up to his armpits.

He shoved them down and bit his lips when he saw the raw, dark pink flesh. Preston rolled onto his back and fear turned him cold as he saw that both of his nipples were swollen and abraded.

He couldn’t come up with any way of falling that would have left those damned things so well used-looking. Preston touched one with a shaking hand and the sensation was almost too much. That skin was overly sensitised and he thrust his hips in response, his body already craving more.

But his head was having quite the freak-out. What if he’d done that to his own nipples? Preston touched one again and hissed.
What if
I
didn’t do that to myself? What the fuck then?

Neither option was appealing. He didn’t remember pinching his tits, but… Hazy images darted through his mind and Preston scrambled backwards until he was almost standing against the headboard.

Someone was in the bathroom.

And Preston was naked. He glanced down. With an erection.
What the fuck is wrong with me?

There’d been a man, he remembered in bits and pieces. Scruffy guy, with a gnarly beard and matted hair. He’d been bony-skinny, but he’d had the prettiest eyes, like old gold, tarnished and so similar to—Preston snapped his head back and thumped it against the wall. The man did
not
have the same goddamned eyes as that snow leopard that had licked him!

“That’s it. I was thinking about the leopard while, uh…” Preston stopped his raspy mumbling. No need to confess that out loud. Still, he could see where he’d got confused. He had to have been fantasising, though. The shower was running still because he’d left it on, not because there was anyone in there.

Of course, the main door was closed, and locked. Why did he have the feeling he’d been scolded like a recalcitrant toddler over leaving it opened?

Why are my nipples fucked up?

Preston was back to the certainty that he wasn’t alone in his room. He quickly found himself doing the very thing he always yelled at characters in horror movies for doing—he headed towards the suspicious activity he heard in the bathroom.

There was more than just water spraying. He could hear the occasional shifting of feet on that shower floor, and something that might have been a moan.

The bathroom door wasn’t shut all the way. Preston tried to keep his panic at bay as he heard the low rumbling sound of a man’s voice. Whatever he was saying, it wasn’t in a language Preston recognised at all. Maybe it wasn’t even words. The guy sounded like he was enjoying the shower. Those were pleased, content noises Preston was hearing.

And he was an utter and complete pervert, because he was so horny he could hardly stand it. Preston reached down and pinched the crown of his cock. It hurt like a mother and he wasn’t prepared for that. The yelp slipped out and he slapped his hand over his mouth as his eyes bugged.

The noises in the bathroom stopped, all except for the soft fall of water.

Preston barely breathed as he stood with his back pressed to the wall beside the open bathroom door. He darted a glance in there and nearly pissed himself to see a golden-eyed man staring at him through the mirror’s reflection.

The beard was gone—Preston’s electric shaver had probably had a hell of a workout—and the rest of the stranger’s hair was wet and clumped. There were a few white streaks in it, starting from the centre of the man’s widow’s peak.

For one brief moment, Preston was held still by the intruder’s masculine beauty. He was elegantly crafted, with fine cheekbones and a wide mouth. His nose was just shy of being large, but the line of it was straight and unbroken.

It was his eyes that really sent Preston into panic when he looked into them again. Gold, just like the snow leopards’, and tilted up in the same way.

Preston’s stomach dipped and his brain did too, like when he’d got very drunk and his mind seemed to be on its very own rollercoaster. A sense of familiarity kept him from shouting for help. There was something about those eyes…

But he didn’t know the man. He’d let the guy touch him, had begged him to fuck him. Preston’s pride kicked in and he opened his mouth to do something, yell for help or call the guy an asshole.

Or run. Running to safety would be good.

The stranger was fast, much faster than Preston could ever hope to be. One second Preston was on the verge of hollering down the motel, and the next he was being tackled by a wet, naked man who was the epitome of all Preston’s fantasies.

Maybe thinner than he’d pictured, but still. Preston batted away the ridiculous thought as his back hit the bed. How in the hell the man had taken a running leap and brought them both the distance to the bed was beyond Preston. Not that the room was large, but Preston’s feet had come way up off the ground.

Preston expected to be in pain from their landing, but he was wrapped in strong skinny arms. The man who grabbed him had rolled and taken the brunt of their fall. The motel bed was on the shitty side, worn down and not very soft. Preston’s bones ached just thinking about his attacker’s impact.

It was a stupid thing to worry about. He needed to get free.

Why the fuck is my dick so hard?
Preston’s groan was more from humiliation than anything else. Something was seriously wrong with him. He bucked and those thin arms tightened around him. He writhed and kicked.

“Enough,” a sexily accented voice snarled in his ear. At the same time, one of those arms vanished and a stinging slap landed on his ass. “You will hurt yourself.”

“Considering you just slapped my ass, why do you care?” Preston snapped as he kept struggling.

The guy hanging onto him grunted. Then Preston’s stinging ass cheek was kneaded almost tenderly.

It was the most disarming thing. Preston froze, clenching every muscle until another heavenly caress encouraged him to relent. He shuddered as he exhaled. Fear should have been rampant in him, but he only felt…safe. His brain and his emotions were not in accordance with one another. Preston closed his eyes and panted as he tried to catch his breath. The short struggle had winded him.

“I am sorry.”

The apology had him opening his eyes and tilting his head back enough to see the speaker’s face. He almost whacked his head on the sharp angle of chin.

“What the hell is going on?” Preston grated out. “Why am I just lying here with you? I should be screaming or trying to kick your ass, not—” He ducked his head. He really needed to learn when to shut up.

“Not hard for me?”

There was no way he was going to acknowledge that.