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“In my case, the je ne sais quoi includes four years as a smuggler, two death sentences, and a decade as a Shanghai Joe, a dockfront trader. I hope you feel suitably elevated.” Stephen tried to confront all of this at once. “Two death sentences? Really? I mean, you look very well, considering.”
“You wanted me to fuck you, didn’t you?” Stephen shut his eyes. “Briefly.” Crane lowered his head so his mouth was right on Stephen’s ear, voice vibrating, teeth and tongue touching the sensitive flesh. “When I fuck you, Mr. Day, it will not be briefly. It will be long and hard and extremely thorough. I’m going to take pains with you.”
“When I have you, sweet boy, it will be because you want me to. Not against your better judgement, not in spite of my surname, and definitely not to annoy your aunt.” Stephen went red, but his voice was defiant. “Well, what was that, then?” Crane shrugged. “You seemed tense.” Stephen gave an incredulous choke of laughter.
“How is that?” “Slowly,” Crane said. “It’s hot there. Very slowly, very thoroughly, inch by inch. You’ll need a great deal of patience, or you might find yourself begging. I think you will, in fact. I’d like to hear you beg.” “Make me,” said Stephen hoarsely, and grabbed for Crane as the other dropped the reins and reached for him.
He swore fluently, inventively and with spectacular obscenity in Shanghainese until he ran out of epithets, switched to English, and started at the beginning again. “You’re feeling more yourself, then,” said Merrick, when Crane reached an impressively foul climax. “No, I am not. What the fuck, what the fucking, bloody devil-shit, what in the name of Satan’s swollen cock was that?”
Crane ran his tongue up Stephen’s neck, nipped his ear. “Tell me what you want. Exactly what you want. Let me give you the fucking you deserve.” Stephen took a shallow breath and looked into Crane’s eyes, direct and naked. “Take me. Right now. Make me beg.”
