The frequency of Finn’s pleading for Eamon to fuck him grew more and more insistent as the time ticked on, reaching a crescendo half an hour into the rimjob with Finn’s hole quivering against Eamon’s tongue as the faerie begged to have his ass split in two by Eamon’s hot fuckrod. He leaned down between his legs and suckled his balls, nails raking along the man’s thighs to signify his need.
“Please, Eamon, fuck me!” he groaned out, hips writhing like a wanton slut as he ground his ass down into the incubus’ face. The long time spent rimming Finn had definitely made him more pliable in ways more than just physical. Now he was putty in the man’s hands, and he’d trust Eamon to respect his limits that they’d discovered last night. Within the limits he’d stay putty.
Eamon’s mouth had been full of the fae’s taste for so long, he’d almost forgotten the taste of anything else. The sharp citrus notes of him were like candy, and it was with something close to reluctance that he released Finn from his hold. With another smack to the swell of the fae’s ass, the incubus pulled back with a chuckle.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” He asked, lifting his hips from the bed in an obvious invitation. “Get down there and fuck yourself.”
