The Curse of the Dragon God (9 page)

Read The Curse of the Dragon God Online

Authors: Geoffrey Knight

Tags: #Mystery, #Suspense, #Adventure, #Gay

BOOK: The Curse of the Dragon God
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He shot once.
Twice.
But Tomas didn’t swallow.
Instead, his muscles shut off the passage to his throat.
Gently he let Luca’s still hard and seeping cock slip from his mouth, then he quickly rose and planted his lips on Luca’s lips once more.
This time, as their mouths sealed tightly together, Luca not only felt Tomas’s tongue enter his mouth, he also tasted the flavorsome swirl of his own cum.
They drank it together, lapping it up, swallowing it down.
When every last drop was gone, Tomas pulled away with a smile and looked down. Luca was still stiff.
“Where did you learn to do that?” the Italian whispered.
Tomas smiled, his lips glistening. “Before I was a fire-eater, I swallowed swords.”
“No kidding!” Luca continued kissing Tomas madly. His hands seized Tomas’s shoulders then groped his arms, his chest, his stomach. They reached the top of Tomas’s tights and at long last yanked them down, unleashing the Icelander’s stiff, swinging cock.
Tomas’s humble bunk was only a few feet away.
With his jeans still wrapped around his ankles, Luca hastily began stepping Tomas backward toward the bed, shuffling frantically, till the back of Tomas’s knees hit the bed and both men tumbled onto it, Luca on top.
As his lips and tongue lapped up every inch of Tomas’s neck, shoulders, and chest, Tomas reached across the bed to a small bedside table. He retrieved a condom and a bottle of lubricant from the drawer. He bit open the condom packet.
“Here,” he said, pulling Luca’s face off his stomach and showing him the condom.
Luca grinned, took it, then slipped it on over his own engorged cock. His shaft was still wet with Tomas’s saliva and his own cum, and the condom went on easily.
The moment it was on, Tomas grabbed Luca by the shoulders and in one graceful move he threw the young Italian onto his back on the bed, while Tomas flipped himself up and over the top, straddling Luca’s hips, hovering above his anxious cock.
Tomas took the lube and squeezed a long glistening wad into the palm of his hand. To the delight of the young Italian, he slowly greased Luca’s sheathed cock, taking his sweet time, enjoying every moment, every inch of Luca’s bountiful length and girth. Kneeling over Luca, he swiveled his hips teasingly, hovering an inch or so out of reach of Luca’s cock.
Unable to resist the temptation, Luca thrust his hips upward, the head of his cock nudging against Tomas’s anus, and Tomas gladly relented. He spread his cheeks and lowered himself down onto Luca.
The young Italian grimaced, his cock—although hard—still tender after the first orgasm. He let out a strained and pleasured sigh as Tomas placed his palm on Luca’s chest for support, then gently…
…sank…
…down…
…onto his cock.
Tomas drew in his breath and held it as the hard, meaty shaft filled him and his ass cheeks came to rest on Luca’s pelvis. There he stayed for a moment, his breath held, his chest bursting, his rectum on fire with the heat radiating from Luca’s cock. Then, slowly, with as much control as he could manage, he released the air from his lungs, at the same time lifting himself up, pausing an inch from the end of Luca’s shaft before sliding back down for more.
Faster this time.
Then faster again.
Tomas took his hand off Luca’s chest and leaned back a little, using the muscles in his hips, thighs, and ass to support himself as he slid up and down. He arched his back, pushing his hips forward to get a better angle on Luca’s cock. He placed his hand behind him now, gripping Luca’s thickly muscled thigh. With his right hand he began to stroke his own gleaming cock.
“Harder,” Luca breathed.
Tomas did what he was told, ramming himself down onto Luca’s cock harder, faster. His ass cheeks slapped against Luca’s pelvis louder and louder. At the same time, he jerked himself off more vigorously, more ferociously.
With one hand, Luca reached forward and grabbed Tomas’s balls. They were a moving target, rising and falling with ever-increasing speed up and down, but he homed in swiftly and seized them and squeezed hard.
The sensation sent shock waves of pain and pleasure through Tomas’s body. His pectoral muscles flinched, the mounds of his large strong chest spasming for a moment or two. He grunted in pain. But his rhythm did not falter.
His head rolled forward, his chin pressing into his chest. He tilted his cock upward, still thrashing it as hard as he could—so he could watch his balls swell as Luca squeezed them, harder and harder, until Tomas thought they would surely burst.
“Don’t…” Tomas gasped breathlessly. “Don’t…stop. Don’t stop. I’m about to…!”
Before he could finish his words, a huge spurt of cum jetted from his cock. It shot into the air and graffitied its way up Luca’s chest and throat in glistening white spirals, hot against Luca’s warm skin.
Luca thrust his hips upward as hard as he could, forcing his own cock as far into Tomas as he could manage, about to come again. He cried out as he exploded, the head of the condom catching his reservoir of hot cum.
The scorching pulse inside Tomas triggered a second, then a third jet of cum, decorating Luca’s torso all the way from his stomach to his chin.
Tomas moaned.
Luca gasped for breath.
As the thrill of their orgasms slowly rippled away, Tomas shook the last drops of cum from his thick, meaty cock, then gently pulled himself off Luca and collapsed next to him on the bed.
There they lay side by side for a long, lingering moment until their panting eased and their glistening cocks settled and lay wet and spent against their stomachs.
Tomas said, “You were looking for someone. And it wasn’t me.”
Luca propped himself up on one elbow and said, “No, but I’m glad I found you.” He kissed Tomas on the lips, and when he was done he lay back down again, staring at the ceiling of Tomas’s modest little trailer. “I’m looking for a particular person. Someone from long ago—he used to be a clown named Valentino.”
This time it was Tomas who propped himself up on one elbow. He had a curious look on his face. “The name, it’s familiar. But I can’t say there’s anyone working here now called that. But there is someone who might know.”
“Who?”
“A woman. She has worked with the circus for many years.” Tomas lowered himself back onto the bed. “I don’t know much about her, she doesn’t talk much. She sells roses and keeps to herself. Her name is Elena.”
“You think she knows him? You think she knows who Valentino is, where I might find him?”
Tomas shook his head and yawned, exhausted. His encounter with Luca had made his eyelids heavy. “I don’t know. But she’s seen a lot of faces come and go. She’s certainly the first…person…I’d…go…to.” Tomas’s voice trailed away, as his eyelids closed and his head slid down one side of the pillow.
Luca looked at him, smiled sweetly, then kissed him once more on the lips. Tomas didn’t stir.
Carefully, Luca climbed over him and out of the tiny bed. Quietly he pulled up his jeans and slipped his shirt back on. Before he left he glanced back once more at Tomas sound asleep. Silently Luca opened the door and stepped outside the trailer.
It was dark.
He quietly closed the door behind him. From a short distance away he heard the cheers of the audience packed inside the big top—
—and from somewhere much closer, he heard the panicked, clip-clop of shoes against cobblestone, of someone scurrying away in a mad dash.
Luca saw a shadow disappear through the maze of trailers.
He raced after it, turned a corner, and heard the footsteps stop.
He saw a figure a short distance ahead, looking back at him. A small, lean shadow in a cloak.
He called out to it. “Wait! Who are you!”
But the figure only turned and scurried away.
Luca put on the speed, trying frantically to follow the figure as it disappeared behind trailers, weaving in and out between circus carts and stacks of wooden crates and boxes.
“Hey! Wait a minute! I want to talk to you!” But the figure didn’t stop.
Luca lost track of it for a moment behind a mountain of burlap sacks, then he rounded a trailer and the bright sight of the big top filled his senses.
He spotted the figure again, at the foot of the big top, lifting the bottom of the tent high enough to vanish inside. Luca charged forward and grabbed the canvas where the figure had disappeared, hoisted it up and ducked underneath.
Inside, the noise was deafening and visibility was almost nonexistent. Luca realized he was under a huge grandstand. Above him he could hear the sounds of the crowd, feet stomping excitedly on floorboards in time with drummers somewhere in the middle of the arena. The drumbeat was getting faster and faster, and with it the thunderous stomping.
Suddenly it stopped. The crowd fell silent, and Luca heard a man’s voice over a megaphone. It was the circus ringmaster.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present, all the way from the fair city of Dublin, the Flying Fitzpatricks! Performing with no safety harnesses—and no safety net!”
The crowd cheered.
By this time, Luca’s eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to see the shadowy figure scurrying along the perimeter of the tent underneath the grandstand. It reached a steel ladder that ran all the way up the side of the big top and began climbing. Luca sprinted straight for the ladder.
The figure was already halfway up, ascending toward a massive lighting rig in the ceiling of the tent. Luca started climbing, his hands and feet tearing up the rungs. He clambered up so fast the whole ladder shook with his weight.
Three-quarters of the way, he glanced up and saw that the figure in the cloak had reached the top and was now making its way rapidly along a narrow gangplank that led to the center of the big top, above the staging lights.
Luca ascended past the highest point of the grandstand now, and looked over the heads of the audience. All the lights and action of the big top came into full view. The massive crowd was captivated by the midair performance of four men flying through the big top, leaping from one trapeze to another, catching each other by the wrists and ankles, forming a pendulous human chain before flying free and performing their next acrobatic stunt.
Luca didn’t have time to spectate. The cloaked figure on the gangplank was already nearing the middle of the lighting rig, heading toward the opposite end of the tent where another ladder led down the other side.
Luca had to catch the figure before it could make it to the opposite end of the gangplank.
Giant lights shuddered and vibrated on the rigging as the young Italian reached the top of the ladder and pounded his way along the narrow gangplank.
A huge cheer rose from the crowd as the Flying Fitzpatricks flew into another death-defying leap.
High above them, Luca was gaining on his target, but as the figure reached the middle of the rig, it bent low, unlatched two hooks, and with some effort slid a 10-foot section of the gangplank away from Luca, leaving a massive gap between them.
“No!” Luca shouted, his voice competing with the cheers below.
Just then, the figure looked up, directly at him.
Luca caught his breath, skidding to a halt at the edge of the gangplank where the section had been removed.
Only 10 feet of empty space and an 80-foot drop lay between Luca and the figure. He could see her now. It was a woman in her early fifties—the same woman Luca had seen selling roses before the performance.
“Elena?” he whispered.
She looked at him almost pleadingly. “Please do not follow me! Please, turn back! For your own safety. Luca, I beg you.”
Luca stood staring at her for a second, trying to put together an impossible puzzle in his head. Who
was
this woman? How did she know his name? Why was she running from him? Did she know Valentino? Was he in danger? And from whom?
She was the one who could answer his questions.
Determinedly Luca backed up, then sprinted as fast as he could along the gangplank before launching himself into the air, leaping across the 10-foot gap.
He made the jump—
—almost.
At the other end he fell short, slammed into the gangplank, and slipped.
The woman dived to her knees and tried to grab his hand, but missed.
Luca’s fingers clawed at the grating in the gangplank but couldn’t hook on. He dropped down below the walkway, fingers still clutching at the air until they found something.
A chain. A short, oily chain dangled below the edge of the gangplank, hanging over the drop into the middle of the giant arena. Luca’s fists clutched the chain and held on tight.
Far below him the acrobats swung back and forth, unaware that Luca was dangling perilously above their heads. Above him, the cloaked woman leaned as far over the edge of the gangplank as she could, trying in vain to reach him.

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