The Green's Hill Novellas by Amy Lane Read Free Book Online

to stroke the area behind Whim’s balls. A little bit of precome spurted, and Charlie swallowed, gratified, and Whim kept begging, piteously, and Charlie gave him what he wanted.
    Sliding his finger on that sensitive area—Whim called it his taint, and Charlie liked the word—he then let that curious, probing finger slide down, down, into the cleft of Whim’s bottom, and then into the shadowed recesses of his ass.
    He found the entrance, and Whim whined even as Charlie gulped at that magnificent prick in the back of his throat. Charlie let more spit dribble down, down over Whim’s testicles, into his cleft, and took that moisture and rubbed it on the tight pucker that strained for his touch.
    Then he breached it gently, and Whim shouted and fisted one hand in Charlie’s hair while Charlie stroked with that one finger and, in a sweet, breathless moment, Whim was coming, pouring come down Charlie’s throat. He couldn’t swallow it all, but he kept trying, until finally Whim lay still, panting and shaking under Charlie’s cheek, and Charlie was using the heel of his hand to wipe away the slickness that coated his chin and lower jaw.
    Whim hauled him up by the armpits until he was sprawled and sticky on Whim’s narrow chest, and then Whim reached up and licked the spend off his chin with little laps, like a delicate kitten.
    Charlie whooshed out a breath and fought to find Whim’s mouth. His lover allowed himself to be captured, and they kissed, long and long and gloriously, until both their bodies were aroused again. But neither of them was in a hurry to move.
    “ Whim ,” Charlie groaned into his shoulder. “One night is not going to be enough…. Can’t you stay more? Longer? A summer?”
    Whim framed his face with both hands. “The thing I am afraid of,” he said after a long, cricket-chirping pause, “is stealing away your life from you, Charlie. I could take you to my hill, change you into a werecreature or a vampire, and you would be mine forever. Or for a much-lengthened lifespan. You know, if you wanted to be a werekitty or a werewolf or a puma or something.”
    “They have werekitties?” Charlie asked in bemusement, and for once Whim was the one keeping the conversation on track.
    “But you have so much to do in your world,” Whim continued, his face tense and taut with this thought. “You have… Goddess, Charlie, there is so much you can accomplish. So much I would rob you of, should I take you with me now. You need to have another lover. You need to feel what the world is like without me. You….” Whim looked away for a moment—to their surroundings, to the railroad track that still cut a swath through this vacant field, to the graffiti wall that separated them from everything real in Charlie’s human world. He looked back, and his face was pinched and unhappy, and his eyes were shiny, and not with joy.
    “Charlie, I want you to go out into the world and live, and come back to me and tell me of your life. Can you do that? For a few years, can you do that? I would not miss the man you are becoming for all the Litha nights under the sky.”
    Charlie bit back bitter, bloody disappointment, and he nodded. He’d told himself, hadn’t he? He’d known. Whim was his for a night. This night. He would be Charlie’s on Litha, and wasn’t that more than a mortal could ask?
    Still, he didn’t object when Whim raised a hand to his cheek and wiped his eye with a gentle thumb. Whim took the tear to his lips and tasted, and he made a sound like a man would make if a scalpel made of starlight incised the flesh nearest his heart.
    “I know that taste,” he whispered. “It’s the taste of my own tears, Charlie. But I beg you to meet me here anyway, so we can have laughter too.”
    Charlie sniffed. “What sort of moron would turn down another night like this?” he asked, trying to keep his chin under control. He failed miserably, and Whim took his mouth and kissed him hard, and their bodies, naked