Erotic excerpt -- 18 and older, please!
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My Brother's Keeper - Excerpt
by Denise Kendrick and RD Solange
No sounds reached him through the thick of the wood, but he could see the faint flicker of firelight playing beneath the crack at the floor. He knocked softly. No answer. But surely it was his place to open the door without permission. He did so every morning before Malik woke and every afternoon before Malik returned home.
Still, whatever Malik was doing was private. Ciaran rubbed his hands together. He'd be damned if he were going to stoop to peeking through a keyhole. Before he could change his mind, he turned the knob and opened the door.
The fire in the fireplace had died down, but still crackled softly. A haze of smoke filled the room, but from its sickly sweet smell, Ciaran quickly realized the smoke was not from the fire. He could tell without even looking that Malik was not in bed; that half of the room was dark and still.
His bare feet made no sound as they tread over the wood floors to the rich carpet, circling to see his brother's elbow and foot poking out to the side of the deep armchair by the fire.
A few steps closer and the feet of a slim, oiled body kneeling between Malik's legs came into view. Ciaran crept closer until he had a clear view, and froze at the sight of the head bobbing at Malik's groin, the quiet slurping noises reaching his ears.
The lazy way Malik's hand cupped the side of Aedam's head suggested this was not a new hobby for his brother. And Aedam, naked but for some glitter and a bit of decorative string tied round his hips, seemed utterly at home.
The image was erotic in every way that seemed wrong to Ciaran; but before he could sneak away, Malik's eyes opened. They blinked and settled on him almost as if Malik wasn't sure he was real.
Ciaran cleared his throat softly. "I wanted to see if you needed anything else this evening, my lord." He tried to keep his focus studiously above Malik's lap, but picked up the stiffening in Aedam's body nonetheless. The slave's toes curled in surprise at his voice.
"We weren't expecting you," Malik said in a lazy drawl, reaching for his pipe.
Ciaran watched his other hand tighten in Aedam's red hair, and he realized with a start that no one else would have dared open that door. His brother was not himself tonight.
"He's very pretty, don't you think?"
A dull panic spread up from the base of Ciaran's spine. "I..." He took a step back.
"No, stay. I want you to see this." Malik waved him forward. "Answer me. Do you think this boy is pretty?"
"Pretty?" Ciaran had to clear his throat to get the word out, his body caught between his instinct to flee and the morbid curiosity that kept him in place.
Malik pulled another lung full of smoke into his chest, letting his head fall back as he held it and then let it go in one long stream. "Yes, Ciaran. Pretty. Do you think he's pretty? Do you like him?" He twisted Aedam's head, forcing his face towards Ciaran. "Look at him. Tell me you find him pretty."
The contempt on Aedam's features was clearly meant for Ciaran despite the rough grip Malik had on his hair. Ciaran thought about Dashi and wondered if Aedam came to Malik's side as enthusiastically as Dashi would have.
"He's very pretty, my lord," Ciaran said carefully, unsure what kind of effect the drug would have on his brother's temper.
"Could you love a boy like this, Ci? Now that you know what he is, what he does?" Malik tilted Aedam's face towards his own, gazing at him as he spoke. "Could you care for him? Could you ever respect someone like him?"
Ciaran's head started to throb, beyond what could be blamed on the sickeningly sweet smell of the smoke. Malik flinched when he looked up and Ciaran knew he felt it too.
"Come here," Malik ordered, rage flirting at the edges of his voice.
Ciaran took a hesitant step forward.
"No, here, behind him." He pointed to the floor a few feet away. "Kneel down behind him."
"Behind..." Ciaran blanched, stopping mid-step. The smoke made his head swim. "No, Mal."
"No?" Confusion clouded Malik's face. Aedam's clever fingers strayed up to brush over a nipple and he moaned softly around Malik's prick. The grip on the slave's hair eased into a petting stroke.
Ciaran risked a step back. "I'll leave you to your pleasure, my lord."
Malik rubbed the tip of the smoking pipe against his bottom lip. "If I were you, slave. I would do as you're told."