Just One Bite Volume 1 Read online

  “Oh, the same thing all men want, I expect. Wealth beyond imagining. I expect they sacrificed a few virgins, too.”

  Damien blushed, being old enough to know what a virgin was.

  “Stop filling the boy’s head with nonsense!” his father snapped, and his tone made it quite clear the visit was over.

  “Can’t we stay a little longer?” Damien pleaded.

  It was strange, how none of the sun’s warmth seemed to touch his father’s handsome face. “No. Come on, Rebecca!”

  They left, Damien dragging behind despite the fact he knew he’d pay for it later.

  He’d never forgotten that day.

  ***

  Rafe sipped his pint, the bitter taste a potent contrast to the sweet sight in front of him. He put the kid’s age at around twenty, twenty-one. Slender figure, just short of Rafe’s six foot two, floppy blond hair and moon-pale skin Rafe could almost taste from across the room. Trying to look relaxed and confident, but his feet were twisted around the legs of his bar stool and his fingers kept playing with the beer mats.

  And those grey eyes of his might be chilly, but they’d been staring at Rafe all evening.

  It was getting on for last orders now. Time to make a move. Rafe didn’t bother with the dregs of his pint, just set down his glass and walked over to the bar. “Seen something you like?”

  The kid flushed. “Maybe.”

  Even in that one word, Rafe could hear centuries of wealth and privilege. Rafe’s ancestors had probably tugged their forelocks to this boy’s great-great-granddad and stood aside while he made free with their wives. Ah, well. Looked like it’d be just the one night, then. Shame, really, because close up those eyes didn’t look as cold as all that.

  “Would you like to go for a walk with me?” the kid asked, the words coming just a little too fast.

  Rafe raised a pierced eyebrow. “Holding hands in the moonlight?”

  Shades of pink were still tinting those smooth cheeks. “I thought we could go up to the stone circle. There’d be nobody there now. I’m Damien, by the way.”

  “Rafe. And yeah, why not? It’s a warm night. You driving?”

  Damien nodded, his hair flopping over his eyes. He pushed it back without even seeming to notice. Rafe wondered if he did that in his sleep. “My car’s out the back.”

  The car didn’t fit with the rest of him—a banged-up Ford Escort Rafe might have driven himself at that age. “Your other car a Porsche?” Rafe asked sardonically.

  In the moonlight, he couldn’t tell if Damien flushed again. “I’m not rich, if that’s what you mean. I work in a shop.”

  Rafe laughed. “Buy that public school accent there, did you?”

  About to unlock the car, Damien stopped. “I went to a public school, yes. And then my father found out I was queer. Happy?”

  It wasn’t often, these days, that Rafe got to feel ashamed of himself. There was a tightness behind his sternum and a shiver in his throat, like he’d drunk a bad pint. “Sorry.” He’d have put a hand on Damien’s arm, but there was the thickness of the car between them.

  After a moment, Damien nodded, and they got in.

  ***

  Damien yanked the car into gear, and pulled out of the pub car park with a scrape of loose grit. Thank God he’d only had the one glass of whiskey—even that was making his stomach churn. His hands slipped a little on the steering wheel, and he wiped them, one by one, on the legs of his jeans. God, he hoped Rafe hadn’t noticed. But Rafe probably noticed everything, with those sharp blue eyes underneath expressive ginger brows.

  Rafe wasn’t what Damien had been expecting, when he’d screwed up his nerve to go to the pub with the dodgy reputation. Much better looking, for a start—Damien had been bracing himself for some furtive, middle-aged queen with bad breath and a pot belly, not a tall, broad-shouldered stud with piercings and a ponytail. Right now, Damien wasn’t sure which he’d have preferred.

  But at the end of the day, it didn’t matter who. Just that it happened, tonight, in the way he’d planned.

  ***

  Rafe was beginning to wonder about Damien. He was as nervous as a bride on her wedding night, as Rafe’s old granddad used to say—bloody hell, was that it? Was this his first time with a bloke? Rafe looked over at him—lips tight, arms rigid on the steering wheel. Ah, well. Wouldn’t be kind to call him on it. “Been up here long?” he asked instead.

  “A-about a week,” Damien said. “Annual holiday—I’ve got another week after this.”

  “Spending it all in the Lakes?”

  “Yes.”

  So much for conversation. “I’ve been up here nearly a year, now. I work at the red squirrel reserve up at Whinlatter—for some reason, they seemed to think I’d fit right in.” Damien didn’t react to the joke about Rafe’s colouring. Probably didn’t even notice it. “The turning’s up here on the right.”

  “I know.” Damien seemed to realise he wasn’t being very friendly. “Thanks.”

  He parked the car by the side of the road, and they got out. The moon was high and full, limning the hedge with silver and casting velvet shadows. Rafe decided against making any jokes about werewolves.

  Damien grabbed a rucksack from the boot of the car—it looked like he’d planned ahead, brought a blanket. Bloody hell, he’d been determined to get laid. Odd to think that if Rafe had stayed in and watched the telly, it’d be someone else up here with the kid.

  They walked through the gate, the stone circle spread out in front of them, with its panoramic views over the Cumbrian hills. Rafe often wondered if there was Northern blood in his ancestry, the way those hills called to him.

  The best views were from the circle itself, Rafe knew. Casting a smile back at Damien’s white face, he strode forward.

  ***

  Damien’s hands trembled a little on the straps of the rucksack. He was so close, now. So close to regaining all that he’d lost, with his father’s rejection. Wealth beyond imagining... Had his mother known more than she let on? Or had it merely been something half-remembered, a whisper from days long gone?

  He’d been up here at sunset, making all the preparations he could. He’d had to hope no one would come along and disturb his carefully placed herbs, the oils with which he’d anointed the stones. It had taken years of research to reconstruct the ritual. The last few things he’d need—the oil, and of course, the knife—were in his backpack along with, absurdly prosaic, a packet of condoms and a blanket.

  Rafe stood in the centre of the circle now, his arms outstretched. He spun, slowly, like some rough Celt from prehistoric times. “You can feel the magic in these stones, can’t you, Damien?” he said, in his warm, low voice.

  Damien shivered. He’d grown sensitive, over time—but it was rare to find anyone else who wasn’t blind and deaf to the ancient power. At least he was positive no one had been here to defile the place.

  “It’s not the stones,” he said. “At least, it wasn’t in the beginning. It’s the place. People think the place is magical because of the stones, whereas really it’s the other way around. My mother told me all about these places,” Damien added absently. “She died when I was fifteen.” He’d been inconsolable, when they’d told him the news at school. His teachers had seemed to think his depth of feeling admirable—they hadn’t realised he wasn’t crying for her, released from a painful illness. No, he was crying for himself, left alone with a disappointed father already beginning to suspect his true nature.

  “Must have been hard,” Rafe said. He’d stopped turning now. “Why don’t you come here?” he said in a softer tone.

  ***

  As soon as their lips touched, Rafe was sure Damien had never been kissed before. Was that even possible, these days? Rafe had had his first kiss aged fourteen, from a girl who’d lived down the road. She’d offered to show him her knickers, and after he’d politely said, “no, thanks,” hadn’t spoken to him for a month. His second kiss had been from his older brother’s best mate, and had be
en a rough, stubbly thing tasting of illicit cigarettes and scrumpy.

  Damien tasted of whiskey and nerves, and there wasn’t a hint of roughness in the delicate lines of his chin. It wasn’t a turn-off. Rafe liked all sorts, but he had a weakness for delicate, pretty things that often had him wondering if he might not be straight, after all. Damien’s body was warm in his arms, his form slender and supple. As Rafe pressed their bodies together, he felt a hardness against his thigh that excited an answering stiffness in his own cock, reminding him that no, he wasn’t that straight, as it happened. He heard a thud as Damien’s backpack dropped to the ground. Part of him noted it seemed pretty heavy for just a blanket. Maybe Damien had a bottle of something in there as well.

  ***

  Damien was drowning. He hadn’t expected to feel so much. The roughness of Rafe’s stubble on his skin, the tightness of his big, strong arms—and the hardness poking into his stomach, making it churn with fear. Rafe was too quick for him, pressing kisses to his lips, invading his mouth with his tongue, then breaking contact to nip rasping kisses along his throat. Then one of Rafe’s hands left Damien’s waist to knead gently at his arse, and the other pushed up between them to squeeze a nipple.

  Desperate for air, Damien pushed Rafe roughly away. “Stop!” In the treacherous shadows cast by the moon, Rafe’s face looked more ghoulish than worried.

  But his tone was soft, reassuring. “Going too fast? Hey, I won’t do anything you don’t want, okay?”

  Ashamed, Damien crouched down to open the rucksack, using the flap to conceal its contents from Rafe. “I just thought... we should get the blanket out. Do this properly.”

  “I’m all for doing things properly,” Rafe said, and Damien could hear the smile in his voice.

  “But there’s no need to rush.”

  There was every need to rush, before Damien’s nerve broke completely. He spread the blanket on the ground and sat on it awkwardly, while Rafe dropped down to join him with rough grace. He cupped Damien’s chin with one hand, and kissed him more gently this time.

  It was easier, now Damien knew what to expect. He found the courage to kiss back, to start undoing the buttons of the plaid shirt Rafe was wearing. Rafe’s chest underneath was smooth, like Damien’s, and suddenly Damien needed them to be flesh-to-flesh. Stripping off his t-shirt, he pulled Rafe closer, both of them on their knees.

  Rafe’s body was warm, smelling of clean sweat and ale. When Rafe’s hands started to undo Damien’s jeans, he didn’t flinch, just kissed harder. He shuddered as Rafe licked a trail along his collarbone. “Sweet as moonbeams,” Rafe said with a grin.

  Dimly, Damien realised he had to get Rafe naked before it was all too much. He tugged at Rafe’s jeans, getting them undone more by luck than judgement, and gasped as his hand met another man’s cock for the first time in his life. So hot, and God, so big...

  He couldn’t fail now, even if his stomach clenched painfully at the thought of what was coming. “L-lie back,” he said, hating the tremor in his voice. Rafe looked at him quizzically, but obeyed. Damien scrambled to take the last of his clothes off, then pulled the rucksack closer, bringing out the condoms and oil. He sheathed Rafe’s cock in latex then slicked it up clumsily but thoroughly, and then dried his fingers off on his shirt before reaching behind himself. His teeth clenched involuntarily as he removed the plug.

  “Bloody hell, you really were determined to get laid tonight,” Rafe said. There was a trace of sharpness in his tone, but he didn’t resist as Damien lowered himself carefully onto Rafe’s cock. Holding it with one hand, Damien pushed his hips down until he felt it breach him. There was discomfort—but not the searing pain he’d been dreading.

  “Shhh,” Rafe said, stroking Damien’s thigh. Had he whimpered? Damien didn’t know. Scrunching his eyes shut, he pressed down harder, feeling himself stretched and filled. “That’s it, that’s good,” Rafe whispered, and suddenly it was good, it was more than good, and Damien’s eyes opened wide as his mouth made a soundless “O” of astonishment.

  “Yeah, that’s it, keep that angle, fuck, yeah,” Rafe was saying, his hands on Damien’s hips forcing him up and down, up and down. Rafe’s face was screwed up, his words losing their coherency, and his piercings glinted in the pale light as he moved. Damien did his best to keep up the rhythm despite sparks going off behind his eyes every time the tip of Rafe’s cock hit him just right. He’d heard it was horrible, the first time, just something to get through, but this was beyond wonderful, this was magical, why the hell didn’t everyone do this? And then Rafe’s hand was on his cock, and there were no words for how Damien felt. As he shuddered out his climax, his whole body clenching around his balls, Damien was barely aware of Rafe doing the same deep inside him.

  “Bloody hell,” Rafe breathed in his ear, and Damien realised he’d collapsed onto Rafe’s chest, both of them slick with sweat. “Quick learner, aren’t you?”

  Damien stiffened. Had it been that bloody obvious? But it didn’t matter. He needed to complete the ritual, or it wouldn’t work. You had to give, to receive. It was one of the oldest precepts there was, in magic. So Damien would give. Blood. His virginity. He reached shakily into the rucksack, and found the knife by touch. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

  As Rafe did so, Damien drew out the knife and, biting his lip against the pain, cut a score across the palm of his left hand. Blood welled, and started to drip. Hastily, Damien held his hand out to one side so that the blood would fall on the ground, and not upon Rafe’s skin or the blanket. He hoped it would be enough.

  “What the fuck?” Rafe snapped, his eyes now open.

  “It’s magic,” Damien whispered. “A symbolic sacrifice, to bring wealth beyond imagining.” Carefully, he laid the knife aside.

  “You think that’s going to work?” Rafe asked, sounding calmer now.

  “It has to. I can’t go on—knowing what I’ve lost, having to scrape for every penny—” He broke off. There was a rushing in his ears. “You hear that?”

  Rafe was frowning. Calloused hands pushed gently at Damien, who flushed as he remembered they were still connected. Carefully, he rose, wincing at the slight soreness. They both stood, naked in the moonlight—but that was not the only light, now. Strange balls of light seemed to bob and hover above each of the stones, like moons in miniature orbiting uneven, craggy earths. “It’s beautiful,” Rafe breathed, his voice hoarse with wonder.

  Damien couldn’t speak. He could see his mother’s face, paler even than his own, in one of the orbs, and she was smiling at him. The rushing in his ears increased, and it felt as though a great darkness was being sucked out of him—all the bitterness, the sense of betrayal, the loneliness and the envy—and devoured by the lights. He felt clean, cleaner than he’d ever been, and tears ran down his cheeks to drip upon his bare chest as the blood from his hand still dripped upon the ground.

  “So beautiful,” Rafe said again, and this time he was looking at Damien. Slowly, they came together, embracing in the benediction of that soft white light. Rafe kissed him softly. “Hey,” he said. “Your magic. Did it work?”

  Wealth beyond imagining...

  “Yes,” Damien breathed, smiling through his tears at his lover. “It worked.”

  One Last Wish

  by Josephine Myles

  I awoke at his touch. There was none of that frenzied rubbing that some guys give; some of them go at it so hard it’s a wonder they don’t get blisters. No, this was a slow, sensuous caress, lubricated with something slippery, and I rather fancied meeting the owner of the hands.

  It had been a good couple of centuries since I was last summoned forth from the lamp, so I took my time getting ready. Since my new master was being so attentive I thought I should probably make an effort, and went for the oiled bare chest and fine silken trousers, in a lifelike, solid form. I’ve never favoured the transparent look - to be frank, I’ve always wanted to be made of flesh and blood - and my legs are one of my best features so I’m damned if
I’ll hide them in a tail of smoke.

  What would be the most impressive entrance I could make? An explosion? A puff of smoke? His hands flowed so smoothly it inspired me to flow myself, squeezing out through the spout and reforming from the head down. It was all going perfectly until I got carried away and formed my foot before it fully escaped from the spout. I winced, jerking my foot out of the lamp and trying not to fall over.

  He sat on the floor, giving me that stunned expression like they always do the first time. Nice to know I still had what it took. I had to hide my own surprise at his appearance, though. He was young, golden haired, and had barbarian patterns inked on his lean arms; an exotic combination I found oddly compelling. I puffed out my chest and glared.

  “You summoned me?” I said, in my most impressive tones.

  “Wow! Are you seriously meant to be a genie?” He asked, before collapsing in a heap of giggles.

  I stared at him. I was prepared for awed wonder, delight, even fear – I’ve had my fair share of grown men cowering under tables. But laughter; that was a first. Then I caught the fragrance of hashish.

  “Sorry man, sorry.” He recovered himself, but his lips still twitched and his eyes danced. “I just never imagined a genie would look like he’d walked off the set of a gay porno.”

  I’d never heard of this “gay porno” before, but judging by his leer it was something carnal. “I am the djinni of the lamp, young man, and I’ll thank you for a bit of respect.” Okay, so he was my master, technically, but I didn’t see any reason to let him in on that yet. It would only be for a short while, anyhow; most young guys squander their wishes in hours, if not minutes.

  He was staring in a way that made me uncomfortable, which was ridiculous seeing as how I was the magical being and he was merely human. I stretched, flexing my muscles and watching the way his eyes darkened as he ran his gaze down my body.

  “Cool,” he breathed. “So, does that mean I get three wishes?”

  Here we go, back into familiar territory. This I could handle. “That’s right. Anything you want; riches, fame, beautiful maidens, they’re all yours.”