The Beast of Bodmin Moor Page 7

  Think yourself lucky you didn’t find yourself furry. Interloper.

  Clever dick you might be, but c’mon, you must concede that loser of the ‘My Canines Are Bigger Than Yours’ competition is the best man for this job?

  Get on with it then, teeny-weeny teeth.

  Not biting. So shove your size-queen slurs up your furry foreskin.

  This bout of bickering had filled the time it took Jake to lie flat on his back on the floor; head and shoulders inserted between the chrome bars that served as table legs.

  “That’s perfect…Jack?”

  “Yeah?”

  “May I…undo the belt of the robe?”

  Christ. Spread like a picnic on a fleece blanket. A thought Jake did not share, nodding instead as he blew out a loong breath. Phin dropped to his haunches and clasped Jake’s ankles with hands that felt blissfully cool to feverish flesh. A shiver shot up his legs, straight to his groin, even before Phin slid them apart and sank to his knees in the gap he’d made between Jake’s. Oh, help.

  Jake gripped the bars and held on. For humankind, or something such. Phin’s focus was absolute when he slipped his fingers behind the belt and began to pull, letting it slither loose as if he were savouring the unwrapping of a gift. The very air in the van seemed to still. Jake could barely breathe. He point-blank refused to blink. When Phin was done tormenting the belt, he hooked his thumbs beneath the front edges of the robe and parted them like a pair of bloody curtains. This, while devouring Jake with huge pools of starlit darkness that scalded his skin as cupid lips curved in a secret smile.

  And you’ve deemed us dangerous? He’s lethal.

  Those lashes pull that off all on their own. Jake groaned and tightened his grip on the poles.

  “Hmmm…” A soft sigh fluttered across his exposed flesh. Jake gritted his teeth so hard it might once have shattered them. Staying supine was going to kill him. Which might be for the best, all things considered.

  There would have been no might about it, roundabout then, had Jake known what being the focus of Phin’s full concentration felt like. It was the heat of a thousand suns, trained entirely on Jake. Incendiary, in itself. Even before Phin started trailing tentative fingertips from the base of Jake’s throat…down the centre of chest…skimming across skin that tremoured as if it had been tasered. Jake clenched his fists. His fingers promptly imprinted themselves in the chrome. Crap…the bars are buckling; how the hell am I supposed to explain that? A worry obliterated when Phin swooped, and plunged the tip of his tongue into Jake’s belly button.

  “Fuck!” The sudden shock of wet warmth, swirling in its indent, made Jake’s hips spasm as his neck snapped back. The metal posts winced.

  “Sorry!”

  “A…there’s no…need-” Jake groaned, forcing his tendons to relent. An increment.

  The trickle of Phin’s tongue down the trail of dynamite leading south almost brought the table down on Jake’s head. He had no idea how he stayed in his own skin, having lost it under far less incendiary circumstances. The torturous tickle stopped dead. Jake’s shuddering exhalation was abrupted by a sudden sluice of searing heat along his cock from hilt to tip. Jake’s spine jolted about three foot off the floor as a thousand volts surged through his system.

  “Did that feel okay?” His words were soft, uncertain.

  “Gnh-I…ah…yesss…” Jake managed, from Mars or thereabouts. A reply that promptly inspired a second—far more lingering—sweep of flattened tongue along his length. Quite possibly akin to dropping a hairdryer in the bath.

  “Hmm…” A hum of sound like runny honey as Phin curled his fingers beneath Jake’s cock. He’d no sooner lifted it aloft than wrapped his lips around its head as if it was a bloody Magnum. The suckling that ensued was the most excruciatingly erotic experience of Jake’s life. Something had to explode, he could only hold onto so much at once, surely? Two years without so much as a helping hand, let alone mouth. Two hours of enduring the Mount Etna of all erections. Topped off by a dual desire so excessive Phin was better equipped to survive it sane than Jake. Whose nemesis was apparently on a mission to explore every millimetre he encountered. With the Captain Cook of all tongues, as anime eyes damn near devoured Jake and Phin’s mouth did. Oh, good grief…

  ‘I’m worried that I’ll do it too much.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s possible, unless…you bit down’

  Jake’s powers of perception had, of course, never encountered Phin. Too much? It was much too much. A feat indisputably down to Phin himself. Who was too much. Too much of all Jake had ever wanted from this world.

  Odd that…

  Jake’s boneless body felt strangely weightless and yet, very, very heavy…a molten mass of muscle, sinew and flesh. A sensation that did, at least, loosen his death grip on the bars before they resembled a modern art exhibit. As if Jake wasn’t deranged enough; least mind-boggling of all? Phin’s very scent had become the most vital component of the air. Jake’s entire self was alive with it, resonating in response. He felt like a sodding snare drum, tuned to its essence.

  That nugget of nonsense was Jake’s last gasp from the land of lunacy before a blitzkrieg of bliss reduced his brain to rubble and razed all reason to dust. They were done for. Ruined.

  Oh, do keep up. We were done ’n’ dusted from that first whiff on the wind…

  13. Phin

  Phin gazed at the treasure trove he’d unveiled, utterly transfixed. Jack was…perfection. As if he’d stepped straight from Phin’s dreamscape and into his campervan as he’d slept.

  It was still tricky to believe he was a real, breathing person, rather than a hallucination Phin had cooked up after a few too many tipples. He was partial to a spot of brandy at bedtime; it made him feel warmer inside when the world seemed cold ’n’ cruel and his tablets couldn’t stave off the scratchy.

  Phin watched Ja—ke’s chest rise and fall with a wonderment that intensified, rather than subsided, the longer his eyes lingered. The yearning to stroke sun-kissed skin, to trace taut muscle and the tempting trail of hair leading down…down…was overwhelming. Phin tried to swallow what felt like a sticklebrick lodged in his throat and sucked in a sharp breath. So hard. So…impossibly here.

  It was most odd to feel as if fate had outdone him on the too much front. Phin must still be asleep, surely? Unless he’d woken in an alternate universe; a realm where you dreamed your heart’s darkest desires into being…and got to unwrap the riches that materialized on your campervan carpet.

  Phin watched the slow trickle of his fingers across honey-glazed skin. It seemed to skitter in their wake, as if the ridges on his fingertips were playing it like a harp. It all got a bit blurry after that; one minute Phin was still stroking, the next he’d sort of swooped and stuck his tongue in Jake’s belly button. Not content with that, it started having a bit of a swirl around.

  “Fuck!” Jake almost jackknifed in shock. Oops, it might have been po-lite to warn him first. He didn’t seem to mind too much, nor did his groan, as he sank back against the floor. A respite too soon, perhaps. Phin was strung too tight to care for consequence, so he dove in headfirst. This tended to be his best bet when antsy, otherwise he just flapped around in a hyperfit of the fidgets for…ever.

  Resisting temptation was risky; that never went well on less enticing occasions. So Phin pounced to swipe a lavish lick along Jake’s length; a taste sensation so potent his head went all swimmy. It would have felt quite fitting if he’d swooned like a Regency miss when coshed by the most sumptuous of all scents. It was the olfactory equivalent of having a grand piano land on his head after being lobbed from a window. Quite why someone might do this remained a mystery, but it was forever happening in movies, so it must be ‘a thing’. It was actually a hip-butt—rather than a Steinway—that accosted Phin, when up they snapped with the gusto of a Glasgow kiss.

  Jake smelled as luscious as Phin’s second, more lingering sluice along feverish flesh. He’d never been hungry enough to make his mouth wat
er this much. He’d need to be starving t’death. Or rabid. Phin still feared doing it too much, so he figured that he should start at the top and work his way down. That would work; Jake could shove him off if Phin got greedy.

  He could go slow though. Slower than most folk thought reasonable when savouring things he enjoyed. As often as possible—which wasn’t excessive—when he wanted them all the time. See, Phin could be Mr. Moderate himself, if he must. Quite who he was, Phin knew not, so he might’ve made him up. He was supposed to be glad he could suffer such stingy rations, to avoid unseemly consequences. Such as…having to shuffle around on his knees attached to Jake like a limpet. That wouldn’t go down well (with folk who weren’t Phin). Particularly in public.

  A rumbly purr of pleasure rifled Phin’s ears, which seemed to suggest he wasn’t doing anything amiss. Jack hadn’t shoved him off. Yet. He was still gripping the silver leg posts of the table—white-knuckle-tight, too—as if he suspected Phin might suck him up like a hungry hoover unless he held on for dear life. Jack didn’t appear too appalled by the prospect, though…so, Phin hoped, almost as hard as Jake, that he wouldn’t put a stop to proceedings, anytime soon. Or at all, ever.

  A flick of his tongue across the tip of Jake’s cock almost cost Phin an eye, such was the jolt of foxy hips. Ah well, he’d waited forever for this moment; swapping an eyeball seemed a fair ’nuff trade off. Okay, so…Phin had read (in his sister’s Cosmo comic) that he should go about this as if feasting on a luxury lolly. That part should be easy enough, he could savour one of those thoroughly enough to last half an hour.

  Phin took a deep breath, inhaling husky musk, heaven in itself, before wrapping just his lips around the head of Jack’s cock. Ooh…thisss. The bliss was too loud to hear over, so Phin had no idea if he was making a racket. Nor Jake, for that matter. He seemed a smidge… squirmy, despite his efforts to stay still, which did bode well. It also suggested that Jake might need matters moving on a mite, before he went demented. Contrary to Cosmo’s opinion, who possibly didn’t have cocks to call their own. Nor knuckles that looked fit to burst through blanched to bone skin.

  Phin picked up the pace. A fact that reaped rich rewards; he would have been dead—not deaf—had he been oblivious to Jack’s reaction. Phin could feel it. Feel it in his very bones, like a vibration. Somewhat akin to standing next to huge amps and sensing the tremble of sound through his body. As if his very self resonated in response to Jake playing his tune.

  Okay…he must never mention that, Phin decided. It being a flight of fancy that seemed a smidge hyper-responsive, even to him, so it must be stratospheric. Jake would flee as if the hounds of hell were hot on his heels. Keeping schtum was a consequence Phin was more than happy to suck up (as it were) for this secret glimpse of untold pleasure.

  Phin relished every second of it. All of it…every flicker of his own tongue, the husky musk filling his head, the silken slide of velvet heat. Honey-honed skin; all taut sinew and lean muscle, tensed as if to spring. The most magnificent sight that had e’er graced his eyeballs.

  “Phin…” The agonized rasp of his name summoned Phin from his reverent reveries. Had he hurt Jack, done something wrong? How he wished he knew how to get this right for Jake. Not knowing—the fear of failing him—far outweighed all reason.

  “Did I do it wrong?”

  “Fuck…no. Don’t…don’t stop…”

  “I never want to,” Phin assured him, resuming his serendipitous ministrations.

  “Ggnnrrr…” Jake threw his head back with a grapple-hook growl that snagged Phin’s guts. He was glorious; hair fanned in a lustrous halo, like a golden god. Mesmerizing. Phin did his utmost to do concentrating and respond to every twitch—counter-twitch to restrain it—every rumble of pleasure and sigh of sound that flitted free. Meanwhile, hypnotic hips were hell-bent on snapping up despite Jake’s efforts to keep them in check, so Phin had to do focusing and follow their lead, lest he have a mishap. It was a lot to take in. He would need plenty of practise.

  “Phhiin…fuck…stop!” Jake howled when his whole self had a spasm at once. He’ll make his mind up in a minute. A thought so diverting, Phin quite forgot to do listening. Never, had he been more chuffed he’d carried on regardless. If there’d ever been a more majestic sight than Jack mid-orgasm, Phin had never been gifted it.

  It was a hyperfeast fit for a king. Bestowed on Phin. All for Phin. So he guzzled him down with nary a care for excessiveness. Jake didn’t seem to mind. Never had Phin seen someone come so…utterly undone.

  Earlier, when he’d woken, Phin had determined that his new foxy friend was the most tightly wound man on the planet. Armour-clad in titanium and a snaffled robe, as his true self seethed beneath the surface. The blissful abandonment Phin now beheld couldn’t have contrasted more starkly with the stranger he’d met. It was tricky to align the two in his head, so heaven knows how Jack managed it.

  Phin dragged his mouth back, relishing every second, lest this be the last time he’d ever find himself so fortunate. With utmost reluctance, Phin unfurled his fingers, unsure what to do now. What was he supposed to do? Phin flicked his gaze upwards and watched as Jake’s eyelids fluttered apart. He blinked, p’raps to refocus; the blue was as hazy as a sun-scorched sky.

  “Phin…” His voice was as thick as clotted cream, but darker, as if laced with brandy.

  “Yeah?”

  “C’mere…”

  When Jake extended his arm, Phin’s insides did a flip-flop—a bit like that lurch on a hump-backed bridge—except higher up. After rearranging his unwieldy legs, he shuffled up beside Jake and found himself tucked into an armpit before he’d quite got his bearings. He was a bit crumpled, but he’d rather have cramp than be anywhere else. Being crippled seemed a small price to pay for such privilege.

  “Y’okay?” Ja—ke rumbled in gruffly tones.

  “I’m very okay.” Phin’s voice sounded like a smile.

  “Y’sure…? I didn’t mean—I warned you to stop.”

  “I didn’t want to stop. Are you cross?”

  “Cross? Fuck no,” Jake chuckled. “As far from cross as I ever get, but I didn’t want you to…feel obliged.”

  “I don’t oft do things I don’t want to. I might pretend I will, but then I…forget.” Phin admitted.

  “I had noticed…” he muttered. He still didn’t sound miffed though.

  “Jack?”

  “Exactly. I guess I should be thankful you haven’t fixed on Foxy.”

  “I did like Foxy, but Jack is more…dashing.”

  “Dashing?” he spluttered.

  “Yes! You are! In a scoundrelly way…like a pirate, or a devilish hero in a Gothic novel.”

  “Oh gawd!” Jack’s chest juddered with his throaty chuckle. It was like lying against a happy tractor.

  “That’s not a bad thing, by the way. I’d very much fancy being deflowered by a breeches ripper. Oops…I shouldn’t have fessed up, should I? Was it unseemly?”

  “Ah…I—” That’s as far as Jack got before yukking it up again. Slurpy shenanigans had a startling effect on Jake’s disposition, it must be said.

  Perhaps not out loud, though.

  14. Jake

  Jake was damned if he could fathom an answer to that. How the hell was Phin still alive? It was a bloody good job he’d remained a virgin if that was his fantasy night out. A dream date with a breeches ripper. F’fucksakes.

  Lightweight. I’m in. Jack the Ripper at your service, sir…

  If Phin belonged to him (Jake ignored the horrific warmth that thrilled through his body at this, most forbidden of thoughts), he’d never let him out alone. Ever. And possibly insist on cuffing Phin to his own wrist when they ventured out together. Oh, Christ.

  “Jack?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you okay? You just did a big groan. A ‘despairing’ one, rather than indigestion induced. Don’t fib, I would recognize that sound even if my ears fell off.”

  “There’s no need to fib. I
did, but it was self-directed…you didn’t cause it. So, next time you hear it, assume the same and you won’t be wrong. But yeah, I’m fine. Except, I really should get my arse into gear and get out of your hair, before you’re sick to the back teeth of me.”

  “I want to do a despairing groan now, directed your way. You made yourself sound like nits. I don’t want those, it would drive me demented. I’m too scratchy already. I don’t mind you ‘in my hair’…and you can assume the same in anywhere else. So you needn’t worry, or wonder.” Phin shrugged, as if he’d admitted something of no consequence whatsoever. Rather than offered himself up as a virgin sacrifice to slaughter.

  You’re such a melodrama queen. You should watch more French porn and less schlock horror, it’ll do wonders for my constitution. Killjoy.