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Something surprisingly gentle stroked down his cheek. Bryant jerked back. He stared at the softly swaying tentacle. As Bryant watched, it reached for him again. He yanked away, and the others tightened their grips. “What are you…” Bryant trailed off as the smooth metal caressed his face firmly. Then it and two others pushed into his hair, brushing it back from his face, and massaged his scalp.
A thin one slid along the cleft of his ass again, and his breath hitched. They would go that far? As though in answer, the tentacles spread his ass cheeks and positioned him so that his rear faced the hallway. He shuddered as he thought of his tight pucker displayed for the perusal of the man in the shadows.
He had the sudden, ridiculous urge to drop to his knees and rest his forehead on the man’s thigh. He wanted to feel the man’s long fingers in his hair again. He wanted to let him decide what happened now. Emissary Serihk seemed like a man that always knew what to do, and Bryant never did. He just stumbled around from barely scraping by here to barely scraping by there.
Bryant looked good like that, sitting in a luxurious chair and drinking a luxurious vintage from a crystal glass. Serihk felt that urge again to give him all the nice things he could think of.
He wanted to be sweet. He wanted this to be all about comfort and care and to make Bryant boneless and sated and to watch him fall into a deep and luxurious sleep afterward.
But the feelings that made him want to tie Bryant to a bed and pleasure him until he screamed were all tangled up with the feelings that made him want to ensconce him in blankets and make him laugh until he cried. He couldn’t pry them all apart and choose some and leave the others. He couldn’t call some the causes and some the effects.
“You’re finally safe, so you’ll throw yourself back out into danger because you think you’ll end up there anyway?”
If his options were miserable now or miserable later, why was he choosing miserable now?
